Traffic
by ZooMomma
Summary: An intercepted phone call in Kenya...a spate of horrific killings in South Africa...a rapidly closing window of opportunity... And now Auggie Anderson has an unexpected mission on his hands. (6 months post 4x16. Auggie's POV. Mostly.)
1. Chapter 1

**PART ONE**

* * *

**VIRGINIA**

* * *

**Chapter 1**

_Thursday June 19th, 2014_

_Langley, Virginia._

Joan Campbell closes the dossier on her desk, and rests her chin on her hands, deep in thought. Compared with the things she's been dealing with over the last six or so months, the contents of the folder in front of her seem pretty inconsequential. But instead of being passed immediately down the line to one of her division heads to investigate, as would usually be the case, this particular folder has already been on her desk for two hours. And this isn't the first time she's gone through it, either.

She mentally drops it and pushes the folder away. Reaching into her inbox she pulls out the next sheaf of paperwork requiring her attention and gets to work.

Her private line rings an hour or so into her paperwork marathon. She is grateful for the reprieve.

On the other end of the line is the former Director of Clandestine Services, the person who used to sit in the chair she now occupies - her husband, Arthur.

Smiling into the handset she asks, "How are my two boys?"

Previously the 'power couple' of the CIA – he the DCS, she the head of the Domestic Protection Division - the Campbell representation in the building at Langley has been reduced to one. The fall-out from the violent death of Henry Wilcox - the man who had sat in the wood-paneled office before either she or Arthur - and the revelations that had emerged (and were still emerging) as fall-out from that death, had changed things for Arthur. Not in terms of the damage done to his career – much of that had been repaired as charge after charge against Arthur had been proved false and dropped. Something else.

Arthur had lost a son. One he'd loved. And one whom circumstances had dictated he couldn't watch grow up.

And then he'd gained one. As Henry Wilcox's machinations were causing their lives to unravel in front of them, they'd been given a tiny miracle – something they'd given up hope on ever getting – a pregnancy.

And a baby boy.

And Arthur hadn't wanted to squander his second chance at fatherhood.

He'd informed the CIA, when they'd offered him his DCS job back, that he was willing to work as a consultant, but he no longer wanted be an employee of the CIA. Joan had whole-heartedly supported his decision. It had helped that she knew him well enough to know he wouldn't be likely to sit at home all day teaching himself how to knit.

And he isn't.

Arthur Campbell knows too much and has too many contacts for the CIA to truly leave him alone. Even now he is acting as an advisor on several investigations and operations.

Her face is soft as her husband tells her of his and their son's latest puréed food adventure (Mack has discovered he has a talent for blowing raspberries and particularly enjoys practicing his skills at mealtimes) but when the tale is done, and commented upon, her demeanor becomes serious. "Arthur, I need your opinion on something."

Half an hour later she is, again, elbow-deep in paperwork, but her conversation with Arthur is still playing back in her head, hampering her focus. Eventually she gives up completely and pushes the pile of documents aside, once again pulling the problematic dossier towards her.

She has made a decision.

She punches a number into the phone and waits for an answer. "Calder," she says. "Glad I caught you. Would you be able to come up? I have something I want to discuss with you."

* * *

_Fairfax, Virginia_

Arthur Campbell takes one more look into the white-painted crib that has taken up residence in the corner of the main bedroom, nearest his wife's side of the bed. Having satisfied himself that 8-month-old McKenzie Campbell, affectionately known to them as 'The Tyrant', has, in fact, fallen asleep, he quietly makes his way downstairs to his office.

His lunchtime conversation with Joan has the cogs in his head turning. He has given her his opinion regarding the specific matter on which she consulted him, but he has a gut feeling he might, possibly, be able to give her more than just that. Turning on his computer and putting on his dark-rimmed glasses, he logs on to a popular second-hand-books website as "EyrieJane" and under the "Collectors" section of the Community Forum starts a new discussion thread: "Looking for signed First Edition of Lord of the Flies, by William Golding." He sits back for a little while after he hits 'send', removing his glasses and tapping them absent-mindedly on his desk. Then he stands and walks across his office. Opening his safe, he takes out a somewhat battered cell phone which he tucks into his pants pocket. It's been a while since he carried two phones at once but, for the next few days at least, he'll be reverting to some old habits.

Picking up his glasses and putting them back on he opens his e-mail inbox and begins to tackle the more routine tasks waiting for him there.

* * *

_Langley, Virginia_

When Calder Michaels arrives at Joan's office, her assistant waves him through. "Go right in, Mr Michaels. She's expecting you."

He enters and Joan motions to the chairs and table arranged near the door. "Take a seat, Calder. I'll be with you in a moment."

She adds her signature to the bottom of the document on the desk in front of her and then rises, picks up a folder from her desk and comes across to join him, seating herself in the chair opposite his. She places the folder on the table between them.

Watching her, Calder reflects on how these office meetings with Joan have changed since he first arrived at Langley ten months previously. Structurally and organizationally things are almost exactly the same as they were at that time - Arthur Campbell out of the building, Joan Campbell at his old desk and he, Calder Michaels, in her old office at the Domestic Protection Division. But so much has happened in between. Arthur has spent time in detention, Joan was relegated to a cramped desk in a pokey office in 'Crateology' and Calder has even had a short stint in the chair Joan now occupies. Relationships have altered, too. From terseness, suspicion and distrust, Joan and Calder's relationship has moved on to one of mutual respect and cooperation. Calder doubts it will ever be warm – neither of them are particularly sentimental types, and both would likely feel uncomfortable with anything more than very business-like communication. But occasionally he sees a genuine twinkle in her eye when they interact - especially when he has allowed some of his slightly caustic wit to break through.

He looks at her across the table, appraisingly, squinting his eyes a little.

She pushes the folder towards him a little way. "This came across my desk this morning and I wanted to talk about it with you."

Calder picks it up, flips through it briefly, and then puts it back down, leaning back into his chair and folding his arms. "Interesting," he says, "but why me? How is this in any way DPD business?"

"It's not," she acknowledges. "Usually I'd be pushing this kind of intel on to Wilson or Nicolaides to do with as they see fit."

"But…" prompts Calder.

"But…" she echoes, "As you can probably tell, there's not much time to lose on this one. We would generally set up some kind of operation today or tomorrow involving someone at Joburg station and get moving as fast as possible."

Calder is nodding. "Exactly. So why not? Why am I here?"

"Because there's a problem. The target is out of the country for two weeks and the time scale on this a little too tight for us to want to risk waiting for him to get back. Our window of opportunity may well close if we wait."

Calder interjects: "And you're not sending someone from Joburg after him?"

"If I was, you wouldn't be here."

She is watching him intently. He uncrosses his arms and leans forward, elbows on the table, hands clasped. She has his full attention.

Leaning back in her chair she says, "We may still do that. We may just send someone local after him. But there's a risk of spooking him, and we really need him on our side. And," she adds, "a unique opportunity has presented itself, which could work better."

"And this is where I come in?" He moves his hands away from his chin and leans back again, palms flat on the table.

"This is where you come in."

"How?"

She looks him in the eye, face softening a little, and he begins to suspect what's coming.

She confirms it.

"We need Auggie."

* * *

_Author's Note:_

_I never in a million years thought I'd write a fanfic. A number of factors conspired together to make this story happen:_

_1) Despite my repeated entreaties, the writers have yet to bring Covert Affairs to Southern Africa. I have decided I can wait no longer._

_2) On Feb 11th, 2014 __The White House released the National Strategy for Combating Wildlife Trafficking. The document establishes guiding principles and strategic priorities for U.S. efforts to stem the trade in illegal wildlife products globally. It reiterates the risk that such trafficking poses to global and U.S. security. Combating wildlife trafficking is now elevated to a **core mission** of all relevant executive branch agencies and departments of the U.S. Government, including law enforcement and **intelligence agencies**_.

_This suddenly __created a potential meeting point between my real life and my favorite fictional universe. Pretty irresistible._

_3) **countryole**__and **cherithcutestory2** happened. Or rather, I happened upon them. They have inspired, chivied, encouraged and painstakingly 'muricanized my terribly British/South African English. They bear the brunt of the blame for this._


	2. Chapter 2

_A.N: A bit of strong language here._

* * *

**Chapter 2**

_Thursday __June 19__th__, 2014_

_Langley, Virginia_

When Auggie Anderson hears the sliding door of his office opening he hits 'control' to pause the feedback from his computer's screen reader and looks towards the sound, pulling his headphones down around his neck as he does so.

"Auggie." It's Calder Michaels.

"Calder." Auggie waits.

"Listen up…" Calder is still in the doorway. This Auggie finds intriguing. The man's usual style is to march into Auggie's office, lean bodily over Auggie's desk and into his space, say his say abruptly, and then leave. Auggie isn't sure whether the power play moves are a hangover from the early days of their relationship – neither man had trusted or liked the other, and there had been a degree of testosterone warfare as a result – or whether that's just how Calder is. Either way, Auggie has always gotten quite a kick out of his interactions with the man. Calder doesn't seem to feel any need to tiptoe around him or cut him slack. They have been known to go toe-to-toe on things quite frequently, and Auggie appreciates the fact that Calder is more than willing to call him on anything he thinks is out of line. At the same time, the man will take plenty of bullshit right back from Auggie. There's a lot that can be said about Calder Michaels regarding his leadership style – he's a hard task-master and intolerant of mistakes - but his work ethic matches, or even exceeds, what he demands from his people. And he's fair - very, very fair.

"I need to discuss something with you. In private. Could you come up to my office when you finish…whatever it is you're doing right now?"

"Sure," replies Auggie, immediately deciding that the "whatever it is" can be interrupted. "I'll be there in five".

"Excellent," comes the reply and the sliding door is pulled shut.

Auggie sits quite still for a minute, bemused by Calder's odd behavior.

Then he shuts down the work he's been busy with, reaches into his desk drawer for his cane and leaves his office.

* * *

Calder responds to the knock on his office door with a succinct "Yes," and then, seeing that it _is_ in fact Auggie at the door, invites him in.

"Would you close the door behind you?" he asks, then states, "I think you'll want to sit down for this – it's going to take a while. There's a chair straight ahead of you at my desk."

He waits for his head of Tech Ops to locate a seat for himself and settle into it. He learned pretty early on that Auggie Anderson does not appreciate being manhandled in any way, having a tendency to physically (and with no attempt to hide his annoyance) brush off any imposed assistance. As a result Calder generally leaves him to his own devices, preferring to offer verbal cues and relying on his tech-wizard-slash-occasional-unofficial-field-operative to request assistance if he wants it. In Calder's experience that isn't all that often. He hasn't failed to notice, however, that Mr Anderson doesn't seem to reject sighted leads offered by the ladies he comes in contact with nearly as often as he does assistance offered by the men. In fact, the majority of the men who know him seem to have stopped bothering. The ladies haven't. Auggie Anderson has quite a way with women. Not particularly surprisingly. He's good-looking, witty, self-deprecating and very, very charming - things he, no doubt, _also_ used successfully in the days when he was officially a field operative.

Auggie, having placed his cane in front of him on Calder's desk and seated himself, raises his eyebrows towards Calder and asks, "So, what's this about?"

Calder settles back into his own chair, his hands laced behind his head. "Joan called me in earlier today with a folder she wanted me to look at. She wants me to talk to you about it."

"OK." Auggie nods. "You have my attention. Shoot."

Calder pauses for a moment, marshaling his thoughts, trying to work out how best to lay things out for the man seated in front of him.

"All right," he begins. "How much do you know about wildlife trafficking?"

Auggie's eyebrows shoot up. "_Wildlife _trafficking?" He looks perplexed. "Not really in our remit, is it?"

Calder chooses not to reply – just waits for an answer to his question.

His silence has the desired effect. "Well, I know it's been thrown in with drug trafficking and other international crimes under the Transnational Organized Crime Strategy," Auggie supplies, " - that it's funding terrorist groups in Africa…Am I on the right track here?"

"You are," confirms Calder. "And as such the intelligence community has begun to pay attention to such crimes, particularly in Africa. And particularly because there are already established links with terrorist groups such as Al Shabaab in East Africa."

Al Shabaab is territory Calder knows Auggie will be more familiar with. The Al Qaeda-linked group, although not yet having claimed responsibility for any acts of terror outside of East Africa, is being watched with great concern. Not only are they willing to attack Western targets, but they've had marked success recruiting members from Western nations like the U.S. and the U.K. They are also extremely violent. Their September 2013 four-day attack on the upscale Westgate shopping mall in Nairobi, Kenya, left 72 people dead (at least 61 of whom were civilians) and over two hundred wounded. They are becoming more powerful and more organized, and there are increasing concerns that they will begin moving their activities beyond the bounds of the African continent.

Calder continues: "An undercover investigation by an environmentalist group in 2011 revealed that up to 40% of Al Shabaab's funding at the time was coming from the illegal elephant ivory trade, mostly from Kenya. But elephant numbers there have declined significantly and Kenya has begun to tighten up its borders and policing. So that source is slowly drying up. And it looks like more and more funding is starting to come from rhino horn." He pauses to reach for the folder in front of him.

Auggie is listening attentively – he has leaned forward in his chair and his folded arms are resting on Calder's desk.

Calder shifts in his seat and changes tack. "Right. Rhino horn." He takes a breath. "So, this is a _big_ problem for South Africa. Getting bigger. Up until 2007, South Africa was losing less than 20 rhino a year. Then it started rising, rapidly." He opens the folder and begins to read figures off a graph: "83 in '08, 122 in '09, 335 in 2010…you get the picture. Then last year: 1004." He pauses. "The market for horn is increasing, the price is astronomical, the borders are leaky, corruption is the order of the day. It's rich pickings for bad guys. And it looks like Al Shabaab is tapping into that."

"Looks like that, how?" Auggie interrupts him.

Calder puts up a hand. "Hold on. I'm getting to that." He sits back again, leaving the folder open in front of him. "OK. Your techie buddies have been tracking Al Shabaab money, shutting down accounts and so on," he waves a hand vaguely in the air, "and they found a possible link between Al Shabaab and a businessman in Nairobi –…" he leans forward to consult the folder again, "…one Shaikh Ahmed. So we started surveillance on this guy. He's a pretty slippery customer but they managed to eavesdrop on some calls and they've been watching some of the people he does business with. Anyway, after one of these business meetings, the guy he met with made a phone call saying he'd gotten an order for 'horn'," Calder makes quotation marks in the air, "and how much did whoever was on the other end think they could supply. So _that_ was interesting."

"A connection," Auggie comments.

"Exactly." Calder is warming up to his tale – becoming more animated. He has picked up a pencil from his desk and is twirling it in his fingers. "So. Back to South Africa. There's one of our young guys at the Joburg station who's really on board with this whole poaching thing. He's cultivated himself a source in the South African Police's special anti-poaching unit who's feeding him intel on the situation from that side. The long and the short of it is that poaching is getting more and more sophisticated. There are gangs using helicopters, they've got infra-red, night vision goggles, firepower; people at the borders, in the ports, everywhere. It's a nightmare. There's one specific gang - they think it's one gang - that have been using a drug called…" he consults the folder again,"…Etorphine, or M99, instead of shooting the rhinos - it's a drug vets use when they need to tranquilize them."

"OK…" Auggie drags it out into a question. It is obvious he still can't figure out what any of this has to do with him but, to his credit, he's hanging on.

"Right. So we get the intel about this 'horn' order and less than two weeks later there are three major poaching incidents, only days apart, involving M99."

"_In_teresting…" Auggie is now leaning forward, chin in one hand.

Calder is amused. "Glad to see you're with me, Anderson," he comments dryly, then continues: "Our friendly rhino cop is very unhappy with the way the third poaching scene is investigated. She says the lead officer is pushing them to clear out of the way – which, to be fair, they _have_ to do because one of the rhinos actually survived the attack and they've had to get a vet in and so on. Anyway, on the scene they find an empty bottle of this M99 which she photographs. But later it's not in the evidence they collected. When she mentions it she is told that it belonged to the vet who was working on the survivor so it didn't need to be collected. But she isn't convinced." He pauses. "I need to back up a little here," he realizes. "What you need to know is that this drug is _highly_ regulated – it's only sold to vets, each bottle has a unique number and when it's sold to a vet the number is recorded together with the vet's name."

"So she traces the number from the photo, and it's not the same vet?" Auggie is extrapolating.

"Bingo." Calder points the pencil at Auggie. "So, now we have the name of a guy who is probably, at the very least, supplying these guys with the drug. And if he can be turned there might be a way in to this gang…"

"…And if we're very, very lucky, a route up the food chain." Auggie finishes for him.

"Precisely."

"So…what? The police bring him in? We liaise with them?"

"No. We can't risk that. The reason this cop is talking to Joburg in the first place is that she thinks that there are cops in her unit involved in the poaching – being paid to look the other way, to 'lose' evidence – that kind of thing. We don't want these guys spooked – this has to be done _very_ discreetly."

"Has Joburg started working on an approach?"

"They have", confirms Calder, "but there's a new development. Last night that same guy in Kenya put in another order for horn."

"Which means Joburg's gonna need to move fast," Auggie muses, "- if the speed the last order was filled with is anything to go by."

"Right," says Calder, "only our vet isn't _in_ South Africa at the moment – he's up in Namibia for two weeks doing some work for one of these 'big cat' charities."

"Ah. So Joburg guy will have to go up and get him _there._"

"Not that simple," Calder asserts. "One: Joburg guy's green - this young cop of his is the first source he's cultivated and _she_ was motivated and willing. Turning someone like this is a delicate thing, as you know, and there are serious questions as to whether he has the skills. Then there's another problem. The place where this guy's working is a hugely popular luxury tourist destination. And they offer special package tours while the vets are there doing these 'health checks'. The tourists get to be 'volunteers' - to help the vets out - hands-on stuff. They are booked out literally years ahead of time. We can't get accommodation for him. And even if we could get him there, access to the vet is going to be a problem. These guys are apparently on the go non-stop, so unless you're one of the group actually on the ground helping out, contact time is non-existent." He pauses. Auggie is looking contemplative. "We _could _push it, and we will if we have to – Joan doesn't want to just let this go, it's too good an opportunity to pass up - but luckily another option has presented itself."

"And _this_ is why I'm here?" Auggie asks, a slight frown creasing his forehead.

"This is why you're here."


	3. Chapter 3

_Author's Note:_  


_Some strong language._

* * *

**Chapter 3**

_Thursday June 19th, 2014_

_Langley, Virginia_

Auggie sits on the other side of Calder's desk, trying to make sense of everything the man has been saying. "I'm missing something here." he admits. "You need a hacker? Or…what_?_"

He stops, completely at a loss. He knows he's good at what he does, but there are other tech people who are really good at their jobs too – people that actually work in divisions that deal with non_-_domestic threats. As interesting as Calder's story has been, he can't see how it has anything to do with the DPD. And even less with _him_.

"We need a blind guy."

Calder's words floor him. He slumps back into his chair, _literally_ taken aback. "You _what_?" He runs a hand over his hair. He knows his bewilderment must be written all over him.

"We need a blind guy." Calder repeats it slowly, enunciating every word clearly. He is enjoying himself. Auggie can _hear_ the grin.

He relaxes back further, shaking his head, a smile of incredulity forming across his features. "OK, you're gonna have to lay this out for me."

"Gladly." Calder's punch-line having been delivered he gets back to business. "We really lucked out on this one. One of the people in the second-week volunteer group is a blind journalist coming specifically to write a piece on the whole 'hands-on experience' for _Go Travel _Magazine's regular _Accessible Travel _feature."

"And you want me in his place?" Auggie has made the leap and cannot stop his developing grin.

"_If_ you're willing. We've approached the journalist in question and he's willing to forgo his place in return for a replacement vacation of equal value, substantial compensation for his 'lost earnings' and a decent article for the magazine under his byline."

Auggie folds his arms. "A _mercenary_ blind guy," he says approvingly. "I like it."

"So, you want to do this?" The answer must be pretty obvious to Calder but he apparently wants to give Auggie a final chance to back out.

"Are you _kidding _me?"

"I'll take that as a 'yes', then. Excellent." Auggie can hear him lean forward and flip the folder on the desk closed. Then he adds, almost as an afterthought: "Joan was pretty sure you wouldn't say no."

Auggie huffs out a laugh. "Yeah, Joan knows me too well." Then he's all business - sitting forward, elbows on the desk. "So, how's this gonna work? Do we sit down together and work out a plan? When will you brief me?" He pauses, realizing he hasn't even asked the primary question yet. "When am I _going?_"

Auggie is trying to mask his inner excited kid – and not entirely succeeding. Calder, however, is not responding in kind. Instead he's very quiet. Auggie sobers, sensing they're not quite done yet.

"There's one thing we need to discuss before we talk about any of that," Calder says seriously, "and that's the matter of who's going with you. Our journalist had a photographer friend going along with him – a stay-in-the-same-room kind of friend, if you know what I mean. We're going to have to replace her too."

Auggie stills. There is a silence. Calder doesn't try to fill it.

Then Auggie blows out his breath slowly – not quite a sigh, but something close to it. "You're thinking Annie."

"We are." Calder affirms. "It makes the most sense, given your guys' history – your previous experience in the field together."

"I know." This time Auggie's sigh is unmistakable. "But it's…" He hesitates, searching for the right word - finally settles on "…complicated."

"She has to get back into the fray at some stage," Calder argues. "And this is about as perfect a mission for that as you could get – it's a relatively simple job, she's got _you_, she's support, not lead…she's on a luxury vacation in _Africa_, for Chrissakes. You don't get more cushy than _that_."

_Shit_.

Auggie forces down a rising bubble of anxiety and nods. "Yeah. OK. Sound her out then." But his voice is full of uncertainty and hesitation, and betrays him.

Calder doesn't comment, instead slaps his hands onto his desk and stands up. "OK, then," he says briskly, "I'll take this back to Joan and then we'll get back to you. I suppose you'd better start thinking about what you're going to pack, Mr. Anderson."

* * *

Forty minutes later, Auggie is back at his desk, trying to finish off a few urgent bits of work before he leaves, when he hears his door sliding open. He slips his headphones off expecting Calder to come bulldozing in. But it isn't Calder.

"Hey." She's still in the doorway – hasn't come into his office yet.

"Hey," he echoes. Then he waits.

She comes in then and stands by his desk - but she keeps it between them.

"So," she says, "Joan talked to me."

"I know." It's an inane response, but he isn't sure how to ask the question he wants to – too scared the answer won't be what he's hoping for.

"I said yes."

Relief unfurls in his stomach, spreading warmth throughout his whole being. "I'm glad," he says gently.

She's quiet for a long time. Then she speaks again, her voice full of anxiety and sadness and other emotions he can't quite identify. "Do you think we can do this, Auggie? With everything so…" She doesn't finish the question. Hesitates. Starts a new one instead: "Do you think I'm ready?"

He wants so badly to reach out, to find her hand, to _hold_ it, but has to settle instead for reassuring words: "We'll be OK, Walker." He says it with as much conviction as he can muster.

He desperately hopes he's right.

* * *

**END OF PART ONE**


	4. Chapter 4

**PART TWO**

* * *

**NAMIBIA**

* * *

**Chapter 4**

_Saturday June 21__st__ – Sunday June 22__nd__ 2014_

_Somewhere over the Atlantic_

Auggie Anderson leans back wearily against the headrest of the South African Airways Airbus A340, and double-taps the screen of his phone to silence the music that has been flowing through his headphones. He is restless. He has tried and failed, repeatedly, to sleep, and the jazz he so often relies on to soothe his nerves is having exactly the opposite effect. What he _really_ wants to do is pace, but that's not advisable on an airplane in the best of circumstances, and he has no doubt that a _blind_ man pacing up and down the aisle will attract all the wrong kinds of attention.

It's not even worth heading to the bathroom again. Owen Garrett apparently, like Auggie Anderson, likes to pre-book back-of-plane seats when flying long haul. Auggie, as the person now occupying Owen's seat, is genuinely grateful for this: it makes for quick and uncomplicated bathroom visits – one can be up and at the bathroom door before any flight attendants (or 'helpful' passengers) start fussing and offering assistance. But when one's legs are screaming to be stretched, four paces to the bathroom door and four back just doesn't cut it. So, he stays where he is.

Frustrated, he pulls the headphones off and reaches down to stow them and his phone in the leather messenger bag at his feet. Next to him, a sleeping Annie stirs a little as if his movement has disturbed her, but then sighs and resettles. He leans back again and closes his eyes, listening to the sound of her breathing.

He is under no illusion as to why he is so wired. The fact he's heading out into the field, though thrilling, is not enough to produce this degree of edginess – he's had far too much experience for that to be a factor. No, it's the person who he's heading out _with_ that's at the root of it.

She has ruined him.

He can't sit on a plane any more without thinking of the times he's flown with her – as friend, as romantic hopeful, as lover, as complete bastard. He can't listen to _jazz_ without remembering the first day he met her; their most intimate moments in his apartment, jazz filling the spaces all around them. She's woven into his memories, which makes the yawning distance between them even harder to bear - particularly at times like this, when the lack of physical distance between them is making it impossible for him to avoid thinking about her.

Her breathing is slow and even. He can tell she's sleeping deeply. And so he risks lifting up the armrest between them to make contact with her. He slides his fingers carefully towards her across her seat, expecting to find a thigh, or maybe a hand. Instead he finds a knee – it seems she has curled up sideways into her seat facing him, legs tucked up under her. He feels fingers brush against the back of his hand and freezes, worried he has woken her. But her breathing has not changed and she has not moved. And so he traces his fingers upwards along hers until his hand is covering her hand lightly, and he is tracing the bones on the back of it, the edges of her wrist.

She has lost weight. He can feel it. Her wrist and hand are bird-like, far too delicate under his fingers. Familiar rage begins to boil inside him.

This is his Annie. This is the headstrong, brave, impetuous, passionate human being who took on the great Henry Wilcox all on her own. Who took him down. And beneath his fingers lies the evidence of what it has cost her.

The agency, as a way of showing gratitude to the woman who exposed one of the greatest traitors of recent times, took Annie straight off the boat from Hong Kong, where she had killed him, into two weeks of high intensity, top level debriefing – mostly in isolation at a secluded facility nicknamed 'Bluebonnet Farm'. She had been more than 'deep cover' - she had, to all intents and purposes been dead. (He had been one of the very few people who had known she was alive – and even he had not been able to contact her, to talk to her). She had been completely alone, in utmost danger, and unsupported for months. And she had had no guaranteed way back in. Even when she returned, she was alive, but she was a ghost. And the CIA had not known what to do with her. They had only cursorily considered the deep psychological impact the mission may have had on her. So they questioned her and polygraphed her and badgered her until, after one week and four days she literally broke down. Only then did they think to allow Joan Campbell, who had been constantly pushed away because she was 'on leave', to intervene – Joan, who like Auggie, was by that stage ready to march in, take Annie by force, and kill, with bare hands, anyone who got in her way. It was he and Joan who carved a way home for her – who broke the news to her sister, Danielle, that Annie was still alive, who arranged for her to go to California to be with Danielle for as long as it took to heal.

It had taken five months. He had not been able to see her in all that time. They had spoken on the phone a few times – inane small talk – but as he'd said to her in Hong Kong not long before her return, nothing they had to talk about was small. Those conversations had been, as a result, stilted and painful – more frustrating than reassuring.

He'd been unsure if she'd ever come back.

But she had. She'd returned to the DPD, still under strict psychological supervision and still not cleared for field work. She'd put her head down and done what she had to do and barely a month after getting back to work she'd been officially declared fit for field duties. But Calder and Joan and he and all the others who had known her well had been waiting for the Annie they knew to return to them. She hadn't yet. She was a phantom, a shell. And not one of them had wanted to see her back in the field.

She hadn't seemed to want to push it, either. She'd remained behind her desk without complaint, putting in her hours, and more - her standard of work as excellent as it always had been. But she'd drawn an invisible line around herself. She may as well have been working in a closed cubicle. She reached out to no one and politely discouraged attempts to reach out to her.

He had been no exception. Shortly after she'd returned to D.C. she'd come to his apartment. It had been a difficult conversation. She'd told him that she needed time and space to readjust, to rediscover who she was, and that whatever it was that lay between them was too much for her to handle. She had asked for his understanding. She'd been asking for his release.

And because he loved her, and God knew he owed it to her, he'd agreed.

And because he loves her, and God knows he owes it to her, he has tried.

But to have her so close to him every day, and yet so distant from him, is the worst kind of torture. From the first day she walked into Langley they had a connection – banter, support, adventure, affection, friendship, then later love, passion, heartbreak. They'd never really tried to be separate - detached from each other - till that day in his apartment. He is realizing now that he doesn't think they can be. He has released her as much as he can, but she is an inextricable part of him, and he doesn't know how to let any more of her go. Even if she wants him to.

Even if she knows how to let _him_ go.

* * *

It is only when his elbow is jolted by a passing food cart that he realizes he must have fallen asleep after all.

"I am _so_ sorry!" The cabin attendant is full of apologies. He waves it off. He can count on the fingers of one hand the number of flights when his elbows _haven't _been victim to passing carts – which is probably why he _still_ requests window seats, to the frequent bewilderment of booking agents and check-in staff.

He checks his watch. They've been in the air for about thirteen hours – less than two hours left before they land in Johannesburg. The cabin is stirring – seats creaking, chatter beginning - people passing his seat to get to the bathroom behind them. The cabin lights must have come on. It was no doubt a breakfast cart that connected with his arm.

Next to him Annie shifts, brushes against his shoulder as she stretches and yawns. He leans towards her and very soberly, very quietly says to her: "Good morning, Laura Pritchard."

"Good morning, Owen Garrett," she replies, voice still sleepy. But he can hear the smile in it. The exchange doesn't even come close to banter, but her instinctive, immediate response carries a tiny whisper of the rapid to-and-fro that was so characteristic of them _before_. She was the queen of quick comebacks, and he was the king. And for a while they had ruled supreme. This is the first time in ten months he's heard even an echo of that.

Hope rises.

* * *

_Windhoek, Namibia_

Five hours and fifty minutes later, they exit the baggage claims area of Windhoek's Hosea Kutako International Airport heading, Auggie can only presume, in the direction of the arrivals terminal. He is on Annie's arm. It strikes him that he has probably had more physical contact with her in the twenty-two hours since they left D.C. than they have had in the entire seven months since she walked him to a noodle bar in Hong Kong – the day before she shot Henry Wilcox. That had been the last time he had touched her until her return to D.C. from California a month and a half ago. Then there had been her visit to his apartment – a farewell embrace – and again nothing.

He is holding both his folded cane and the handle of his rolling bag in his right hand, his messenger bag across his chest. The characteristic sound of automatic doors opening is followed by a whoosh of air as Annie moves them forward into a more open space, filled with echoes and the detached, slightly metallic human buzz that characterizes most airports. The arrivals terminal.

She slows and then stops. "I can't see anyone who looks like they're looking for us." He can hear her pulling her bag alongside her to stand it up.

Letting go of her arm, Auggie does the same, then begins undoing the elastic strap around his cane to unfold it. He shakes it out and leans on it. "I have _no_ doubt we'll be spotted," he says dryly.

They are. A bustle of footsteps is followed by a brisk, friendly voice. "Owen and Laura?"

"That's us," replies Annie. Auggie thinks wryly: _Who needs a sign when you have a white cane?_

The man is introducing himself to them. "I'm Michael Osterhaus from Otjindawa Lodge. I'm driving you up."

"Great! Hi!" says Annie. She sounds enthusiastic – already in her role, and maybe also responding a little to Michael's warmth. _Go, girl! _he thinks. "I'm Laura Pritchard." Movement and rustling indicate a handshake.

Auggie puts out a hand. "And I'm Owen Garrett," he smiles. "Good to meet you, Michael."

His hand is shaken firmly and then Michael is all business: "Is this your luggage? I'll take that. Oh and that one too? No problem." Their bags are wheeled away. "The bus is just outside. Do you guys want to follow me?" Annie brushes his hand and he takes her elbow.

"Are you looking forward to your visit with us?" Michael is ahead of them, his voice drifting back to them.

_More than you could possibly know, _thinks Auggie.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

_Sunday June 22__nd__, 2014_

They share a minivan with four other members of their tour group – a German couple and a mother and daughter from the Netherlands. Michael informs them that the rest of the group are British and arrived earlier in the day.

Auggie, extremely grateful to be relegated to the back seat with Annie, leans back and, lulled by the chatter (mostly in German) between Michael and 'the tourists' and the quiet presence of _her_, finds himself drifting in and out of sleep.

He is awoken halfway through their two and a half hour drive north from Windhoek when Michael makes a brief stop in the town of Okahandja to refuel and to give them all an opportunity to stretch their legs.

Annie, after leaving him at the entrance to the men's room as per his request, heads off to find them coffee. He improvises his way through all the necessary activities and exits, mostly intact, to wait for her outside.

Approaching footsteps herald her return. When they stop, he turns. "If this journalism gig turns out to be a success," he informs her, "the next piece I write will about the trials of blind men in the public bathrooms of the world."

"That bad, huh?" she sympathizes, pressing a warm cup of coffee into his hand.

He takes a grateful sip. "You have _no_ idea," he tells her.

"Come on," she nudges him, "We have a bus to catch."

He'd negotiate a million public bathrooms just to hear that smile in her voice.

* * *

She's still very quiet on the onward journey. Eventually he leans over towards her.

"Are you awake?" he asks in a stage whisper.

"Mm-hm," comes the reply. "Just taking in the scenery."

"What does it look like out there?"

"Amazing," she says. The word is a long, contented sigh. "It's so open, Owen…_Clean_." A pause. "Flat. Like New Mexico, you know? But much…um… thornier." She laughs.

He admires her flawless adherence to their cover story, but finds himself wishing she'd called him _Auggie_.

She startles him when she suddenly clutches his arm. "Oh! Wow! Right there! On the side of the road…" He can feel her leaning forward over the seat in front of them. "Are those warthogs, Michael?"

"Yes," comes the reply. "We'll see a lot of them from here onwards. I promise you, you'll be bored of them by the time we get to the lodge."

She's seen at least twenty more warthogs by the time Michael tells them they're turning onto the gravel road leading to Otjindawa. She seems no less captivated by them then than she was at the beginning.

He, too, is _utterly_ captivated.

* * *

Their arrival at Otjindawa's Main Lodge sparks a flurry of activity. Bags are offloaded, members of staff arrive, are introduced, and then vanish again - accompanied, it seems, by luggage and either Germans or Dutch ladies. Eventually only Michael and they are left.

"I'll take you guys up to your room," he says, climbing back into the vehicle.

As he starts the engine, Michael gives them a quick overview of the layout. "So, ahead of us, as we're parked now, is the main complex of the lodge – dining room, reception desk, information, T.V. lounge, all that. If you walk down the path right in front of us you'll go in at the main entrance. In an arc to the left of us, kind of dotted in the garden, are the rooms where the vet, Dr. Bouwer, and a few of the other regular volunteers are staying at the moment. Then, to the right of the main complex is the pool and then the 'Plains Rooms' are arranged down the road from there. That's where we're putting you. In Number 3."

"So they're separate units rather than hotel-style rooms? Detached from the main building?" Auggie is trying to make sense of Michael's description.

"I suppose the word 'rooms' _i_s a bit misleading," Michael concedes. He clarifies: "No, they're all stand-alone units, spaced apart, own entrances - privacy and seclusion, you know. We don't believe in bringing people all the way out into great big Namibia and crowding them up." He laughs. "We've got space. We use it."

_Perfect_. That fact alone considerably reduces the risk of conversations being overheard, and it'll make any necessary sneaking into, and out of, other people's rooms much, much easier.

The road has been curving gently to the right, but now they peel off left and after a short distance Michael stops the vehicle.

"Here we are," he announces, "Home sweet home. I'll unlock for you quickly and then come back for your bags."

Annie clambers out of the vehicle and Auggie follows suit, pulling his cane out of his messenger bag and unfurling it as soon as he's outside. She comes around to stand next to him.

"What're we looking at?" he asks her.

She orients him. "A ramp leading up past the left side of the building, directly in front of the car," she says. "Looks like it goes up to a deck of some kind. I assume the entrance comes off there. I can't quite see – it bends away to the right. That's the way Michael went…" She brushes his hand with the back of hers. He responds to her cue, taking her elbow. "He wasn't lying about privacy," she adds in a murmur, moving them forward. "I can't see any of the other units from here."

"Sounds good," Auggie comments quietly.

"Here's the start of the ramp." Auggie explores with his cane, finding the right hand edge of it. It curves to the right as they walk up. "Oh! _Wow!_" Annie has stopped abruptly, drawing in a breath. "Yeah, there _is_ a deck up here. And a _view!_ It's just _open_ - as far as you can see. And there's a _waterhole._ And _warthogs!_" She sounds completely enchanted.

"I see you're not bored of them yet," Michael's amused voice is coming from a little ahead of them and to the right.

"Not a _chance_," Annie replies adamantly.

Michael chuckles. "It's open," he says. "Go on in. I'll start bringing your luggage up."

* * *

They decide that they'll have lunch on their deck – Michael offers to have something light brought over to them – after which 'Laura Pritchard' will join the others on a game drive – her cameras need airing, she claims. 'Owen Garrett' opts out of the drive. He wouldn't mind a bit of down-time, he confesses - after having crammed (he fingers his watch) thirty hours into the last twenty-four, he's feeling a little jet-lagged.

In reality, rest is not what Auggie has in mind. Once Annie has been collected for her drive, Auggie gets to work mapping out their space properly. Annie has given him a brief description – "if you stand here in the doorway: table, chairs, bar fridge, kettle and coffee-making things straight ahead of you; turn left and walk in a little – bathroom area to your right; wardrobe area straight ahead, beds…" (his heart sinks slightly at the plural) "…to the left."

His own exploration reveals two double beds pushed together. A little way in front of them he finds a long, low, padded bench seat, and in front of that a massive window – 'wall of glass' would probably be more accurate. Behind the beds the wardrobe area reveals itself as consisting predominantly of open-plan, poured-concrete shelving and a hanging space, but he finds a good-sized safe and an iPod docking station there too. He congratulates himself on having managed to leave all the ornamental decor intact and undisturbed. The bathroom area is spacious, and beautifully, _logically_, laid out – sinks and shower in a line to left along the wall opposite the doorway, toilet in a separate room on the right. His only mishap is during his investigation of the small room containing the toilet – he finds himself tangled up with what seems to be a small herd of spindly wooden giraffe. They had apparently been tranquilly inhabiting the corner of the room until he'd run into them – sending them over like a row of dominoes. Righting them (he hopes) he makes a mental note to approach the sink from the right, not the left, so as not to disturb their peace again.

He loves the feel of the place – solid concrete counter tops, clean lines, generous use of wood, sand-textured walls and soft, comfortable fabrics used for comforters and cushions.

He unpacks - Annie has left him three shelves and half of the hanging space - and then begins to set up a mini-office at the table in the corner opposite the front door. Once satisfied with the arrangement of all his equipment, and having checked everything switches on and connects as it should, he grabs his phone and cane and heads outside. Standing at the railing of the deck he puts in a call to Langley.

"Hey, Joan...Yeah, settled in here…Looks good – very private – low level of security…No, haven't met him yet – we'll see him at dinner tonight apparently…Of course…Will keep you posted…"

"And Annie?" Joan's concern is easy to discern despite distance and a somewhat crackly line.

"She's OK. _Good_, I think, actually…"

"I'm so glad, Auggie." He turns, leaning back against the railing, listening to the relief in her voice.

"Yeah. I know. Me too."

Even if nothing else goes right on their mission, this is already enough of a win for him.


	6. Chapter 6

_AN: Warning: Some strong language in this chapter._

* * *

**Chapter 6**

_Monday June 23__rd__, 2014_

_Otjindawa Nature Reserve, Namibia_

Auggie awakens to an unidentifiable cacophony and the smell of coffee. Groggily he extracts himself from the warm cocoon of his bed and goes in search of the source of the aroma, the solution to the noise mystery, and the reason for his sleep-deprived state. He finds all three outside on the deck.

"Coffee?" Annie asks, as he emerges through the doorway. Her voice comes from the table over near the railing.

"That obvious?" he asks.

"Yup, pretty much," she states. She has no mercy.

He grunts. Crossing over, he finds a chair and pulls it out.

"Jet lag?" she asks, sympathetically.

"Something like that." He is _not_ going to confess to her that he, unlike she (who had climbed into the bed next to his and promptly fallen asleep), had spent the whole night tossing and turning precisely because she _was_ in the bed next to his.

He sits and she pushes a warm mug against his hand. "Thanks." Wrapping his fingers around it he asks, "What's making all the noise?"

She laughs. "There's a bird table down there, just outside the bedroom window. I found some bird food in a jar this morning. Now there are about ten guinea fowls all trying to stand on it at once, and there are two hornbills in a tree unhappy about not getting a piece of the action. It's like a kindergarten playground."

"It's _loud_." He winces.

"I know. Sorry." She does sound a little contrite, to her credit. "I didn't realize. Next time I'll wait till you're fully awake." Mostly, though, she is laughing at him.

"Next time I'll have hidden the bird food," he grumbles.

"Oh yeah?" She pushes back her chair. "Well, while _you're_ trying to turn into a nice person," she announces, standing up, "_I'm_ going to take a shower." She leaves him with the coffee pot and the (thankfully subsiding) bird melee. The scuffle, it seems, is over, and he's able to appreciate other, subtler contributions to the dawn chorus. The oddly melodious jumble of twitters, whistles, clicks and buzzes combines with a decided chill in the air and the undefinable scent that he is coming to associate with this vast, uncluttered space. It creeps slowly into his consciousness. He starts to feel more human again. He reaches for more coffee.

He can hear her moving around inside.

This place is working some kind of magic on Annie. She is undeniably re-emerging, as if from a long hibernation. She'd been breathtaking at dinner last night: vivacious, engaging, charming the other guests over dinner - many of whom had apparently already been very taken with her on their earlier game drive. Laura Pritchard, it seems, is a social butterfly, and she's bringing Annie Walker right along with her. And Auggie Anderson is beginning to reap the benefits.

But her banter this morning, if he's honest with himself, has produced mixed feelings in him – happiness, definitely; but also dissatisfaction, longing, and sadness for the lost months.

"_Shit!"_ The muffled curse drifts through the open door.

"Everything OK in there?" he calls, leaning back in his chair in order to direct his question indoors.

"Yeah, fine." But she sounds harassed. "I just went and knocked over a whole herd of giraffe in here."

He snorts into his remaining coffee.

* * *

They save their 'mission discussion' for the walk over to breakfast. Auggie is not on Annie's arm this time, wanting to map out the route for himself.

_Straight ahead from end of ramp. Find half-buried rock on the right. Pass it. Turn right onto the road. _

"So, what's the plan?" Annie asks him.

_Keep right. Use the dirt ridge on road edge as guide. _

He sighs. "Feels like we're starting at ground zero here," he admits, knowing his frustration is coming out in his voice. "We've got _nothing_ so far."

As good as their dinner had been the previous night, and as wonderful as it had been to be next to Annie as she charmed staff, members of the official team and their 'fellow tourists', mission-wise the evening had been a dead end. They had at least been introduced to Dr. Jaco Bouwer ('YAH-koo', Auggie had noted, not 'Jacko' as he'd been reading it in his head). However, after a brief, unenlightening, _where are you from?_ conversation, the man had been appropriated by Holly Webster, director of The BornWild Foundation, and, along with Michael, had spent the rest of the evening with her, their heads together, presumably talking logistics for the week ahead.

Annie and Auggie haven't been able to extract any useful information from anyone else about him either. 'Quiet, but nice' seems to be the general consensus. Not helpful.

They still have no more than the scant information they left D.C. with:

_Full Name: Willem Jacobus Bouwer. _

_Age: 38. _

_Marital Status: Widowed (2012) _

_Wife's name: Michelle Bouwer. _

_Cause of death: Gunshot wound during armed robbery. Perpetrators still at large._

_Children: None. _

_Nationality: South African. (Has never lived or worked outside South Africa)_

_Native__ Language: Afrikaans. _

_Occupation: Veterinarian – Private Wildlife Practice. _

_Place of Residence: Malelane, Mpumalanga (From 2012). _

_Previous Place of Residence: Johannesburg. _

_Facebook Profile: None. _

_Twitter Profile: None_.

Apart from the nature of his wife's death (and that's not as uncommon in South Africa as it would be in many other countries) nothing in his file is outstanding. His internet presence is minimal. Either he's a naturally private person, or he hides himself well.

"There's still time, Auggie" says Annie, obviously picking up on his mood. "We'll be able to get a better handle on things once we know what's going on over the next few days…" She interrupts herself. "Path's coming up, by the way. There's a rock on either side of it, marking it…"

_There. Fork to the right. _

"So, what are our priorities?" She's back on mission.

The path is really only wide enough for one (he'd had to get behind her for quite of a bit of the way when they walked to and from dinner the night before) and so she's let him go ahead, choosing to bring up the rear.

_Go with the path. Smaller cane arcs to avoid tangling with the grass on either side._

"One of us is going to have to try and get close to him – to feel him out. Guess we'll have to see how things go." He turns over his shoulder. "He _is_ single. Maybe you can use your womanly wiles on him." He waggles his eyebrows for effect.

"He's _widowed,_" she corrects him.

"Yeah. So?" he shoots her a grin.

She coughs. She's probably shooting him a dirty look.

He continues, undeterred. "Keep an eye out for laptops, phones, anything like that. Maybe we can find something we can use for leverage."

"You're thinking we break into his room?"

"Well, let's see if we can do it another way first. But, yeah, if we have to."

"How long _do_ you think we have?"

"A few days at least. Don't want to rush and spook him. Let's get a handle on him first – find a good, strong angle if we can."

"OK. Sounds good," she says, and goes quiet.

It's just past 7 am and the air's still cold – it's winter after all – but he can feel the sun on his face starting to warm it. They'll be removing layers not too long from now. Her footsteps are crunching behind him, mingling with the early morning bush sounds. He wonders what shoes she's wearing.

He stops suddenly. "Where'd the path go?" he asks. He's lost both edges.

"Oh. It kind of opens up here into a…parking area, maybe?" She pauses. "Yeah. Probably. The pool's just across there."

"So, where do I go?"

"Uh…If you go straight ahead you'll get to a low stone wall…yeah, that's it. OK, follow it to the left…there's a gap…There…Go through."

_And there's the concrete path that leads to the side entrance of the dining room. Doable._

He's fully aware that finding that path on the way back is not going to be as straightforward_._

"Thanks."

He waits for her at the open door and ushers her in ahead of him.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

_Monday June 23__rd__, 2014_

_Otjindawa Nature Reserve, Namibia_

Holly Webster is a compact fireball of energy with, according to Annie, hair to match. For some reason she makes Auggie think of his third grade teacher. Perhaps it's the way she herds them all into the game viewing vehicle that is to be their on-site transport for the week – urging them along as if they're so many wayward eight-year olds.

She drives like Annie Walker.

As they hurtle towards the BornWild Center – thankfully, he's told, only a short distance from the lodge - Holly is yelling information over her shoulder at them.

"Most of these cats we're doing this week are our 'rescue' cats," she tells them. "Our main focus is obviously trying to keep the cats in the wild – working with the farmers, education and so on. But sometimes we can't persuade a farmer not to shoot, or can't find somewhere else local to move a cat, and so we bring them here. If they're young enough when they come in we do our best to rehab them – release them onto the large reserve here at Otjindawa – but if we can't, or if they don't do well, they stay here in the big camps at BornWild. We have just over forty cats here at the moment." She swings the vehicle violently around a bend. Auggie tightens his grip on the seat in front of him. "We specialize in cheetahs, but we have a handful of lions, leopards and caracals too."

When they arrive at the clinic she briskly talks them through the process. Two cats will be darted at a time. Once asleep they will be brought back to the clinic on the back of open vehicles, monitored all the time for signs of overheating. On arrival they will be carried _quickly_ to the scale outside the clinic, weighed and then taken _immediately _to one of two treatment tables. Each cat will be connected by a vet to a gas anesthetic circuit. The vets will then check them over thoroughly, vaccinate them, treat them and will take blood, urine and other samples. The volunteers will assist. They will please listen carefully and do _exactly_ as the vets ask. Once everything has been done, each cat will be given an antidote to the tranquilizer and placed into a crate to wake up. A volunteer _must _stay at the crate to keep an eye on them, and time their recovery, and once they are steady and standing they will be loaded back onto a vehicle and released back into their camp.

"We want to keep the cats under anesthetic for as short a time as possible." she instructs them, "So I need you guys to pay attention and learn fast." She claps her hands briskly. "Right! Everyone with me?" Auggie is. Right back in that third grade classroom. "The vets have already gone out to dart the first two cats. I need two groups of five – one group for each cheetah." She pauses. "That means one of you lovely pairs is going to have to split up…"

Auggie immediately spots the opportunity presenting itself. He feels for Annie's hand and squeezes it. "Laura and I will," he volunteers. _Perfect. One of them is guaranteed to be working with Jaco Bouwer all day._

"Are you sure?" It's the first time since he met her Auggie has heard Holly sound _un_sure. _Wasn't expecting that, _he thinks wryly.

"Fine with me," Annie backs him up. She gives Auggie's hand a squeeze in return and lets it go. Message communicated.

"All right…" Holly still sounds a little hesitant, but she's getting over it quickly enough. "Michael, you take Owen, Heike, Ernst, Marijke, Eva and show them what's what. They can work at the first station. The rest of you, come with me."

An unexpected image of ducklings lining up behind their mother forms in Auggie's mind. Annie whispers "Good thinking," in his ear and gives his arm a squeeze. She disappears - presumably following the other ducklings.

"Owen?" Michael is next to him in Annie's vacated space. "What's the best way for me to show you around?"

Auggie appreciates the simplicity of that question more than Michael will ever know. Too many people presume – grabbing him, pushing or pulling him wherever they think he needs to go. Too many people are too embarrassed to just _ask_ what he wants, or whether he even wants anything. Too few people do him the courtesy of believing that maybe _he_ knows what he needs better than anyone else. It still grates, even after all this time.

* * *

Auggie's just gotten the outline of the place _(kitchen with bottomless pot of coffee - nice; bathrooms; 'museum'; lecture hall; office. And then the clinic: loading area; table with scale just outside the door on the left; double doors into the clinic itself; an immediate left to find their station; examination table with light; cart with __anesthetic__ machine; several other medical carts dotted about with an alarming amount of loose equipment on them) _when Michael's radio crackles to life. "First two cats on the way."

The potentially disastrous equipment-cluttered carts make his decision for him.

"Michael, I'm gonna wait this part out. Where will I be out of the traffic?"

"Are you sure? I'm really happy for you to stick with me if you want."

"I'm sure. Get these first guys in without worrying about me getting run over. Or running over something. I'll figure things out quickly enough. Hang with you for the next round?"

"I'll hold you to that." His smile is apparent in his voice. "Just so you know."

"I've been warned." Auggie grins at him. "Now direct me."

"You're good where you are, actually." They're standing between the examination table and the clinic wall. "Maybe just back up against the wall until they've got the cat settled? Then you'll be in the clear. I'm going to head back outside, OK?"

"Fine." Auggie leans back against the wall, folds up his cane, crosses his arms and waits.

He can hear the first vehicle arriving and being backed up into the loading area. Michael, enthusiastic as ever, is yelling directions. "Come…more…OK, stop." The sound of a hand banging the side of a vehicle accompanies the last injunction. The engine is cut and there are sounds of feet landing as people jump down.

Holly's "Quick! Get her on the scale!" is followed by a "_1-2-3-lift_" count by (he thinks) Jaco Bouwer.

"Mind! Mind! Out the way!" Teacher Holly. Auggie congratulates himself on already being out of the way.

A woman's voice - British accent - calls "Thirty-two point two." The cheetah is on the scale.

Grunting and rapid scuffling footsteps are coming into the clinic, towards him. This is _their _cheetah. _He_ is going to be the one closest to Jaco Bouwer today. Mentally he pumps a fist. _Sorry, Annie._

The arrival of the second vehicle coincides with the settling of the cheetah on the table in front of him. Jaco Bouwer's measured, precise, accented tones demarcate the activities.

"There. The tube is in. Could you connect her up please, Julie?" So the British accent belongs to the veterinary nurse - the two volunteer vets must be supervising the process on Annie's cat.

"She has a lot of flies on her," the vet notes. She's shared one with Auggie. He brushes it out of his hair. It's persistent. "Ernst, would you please put some of that fly powder onto her. A little more here? Yes, that's good. Thank you. Now rub it in like this. Yes. Good. These are called 'louse flies'. They're becoming an increasing problem here, we think because of higher rainfall in recent years." The man is a fount of information.

"What is her temperature?"

"Thirty-nine point two." Julie-the-nurse again.

"That's fine. The anesthetic level looks stable. Let's get to work, then. Julie, could you demonstrate how we take the temperature so that someone can monitor that? Readings every two minutes please and note them on the chart. Also, how to take the body length measurements for the BMI? Let's get someone going with those. Thank you."

He speaks the very correct, non-idiomatic English of a non-native speaker. He is polite to a fault.

Just as Auggie's wondering how safe it is to make his way forward, Jaco Bouwer speaks quietly over his shoulder to him.

"It's all clear now, Owen. You can come and meet her if you like." Touching Auggie lightly under the elbow, he ushers him forward. Auggie finds the edge of the table with his folded cane. "She's lying on her right side, back to you, head to your right. She's intubated so there's a tube coming from her mouth connecting her to the anesthetic machine. She has an intravenous catheter in her front foreleg in case we need to administer any drugs quickly. That's all you will need to be careful of."

"I can touch her?"

"Of course. Please."

Auggie lays the cane on the table and then slides his hands, fingertips down, carefully forwards until the back of his fingers make contact with the cheetah's back. He measures the length of her spine with them, left and right, feeling bony ridges. Tracing his fingertips up and over her back he finds her side and then, palms down, gauges the dimensions of her chest and abdomen. She's slender - chest deep from spine to sternum, but narrow from side to side. He can feel her ribs.

Her coat surprises him. It's coarse – rough under his fingertips. He can feel dirt, matted fur. His fingers find a grass burr. He pulls it free.

"Many people are surprised at how dirty they are." Jaco Bouwer must be watching him. For the first time Auggie can hear a slight smile in the vet's voice. "They're not like other cats when it comes to grooming. We'll comb her out nicely before we wake her up."

Auggie tracks carefully to the right along her body, reaching her neck. "What's this?" He has found some sort of bandage running across her neck - tied around the back of her head.

"That's the tie holding the endotracheal tube in place – the tube that feeds the anesthetic gas into her lungs."

- Two round ears. Thumbs over a broad forehead. He traces the side of her face with the backs of two fingers. Shorter fur. Turns his hand over. Fingers the side of her muzzle carefully. He'd wondered about the characteristic 'tear tracks' - whether he'd be able to distinguish them. He can't. All of the fur feels the same.

"Does she have a name?"

"Yes. They all do. She's called Marge. The other cheetah here is Lisa."

"The Simpsons?" Auggie quirks an eyebrow, amused.

"Yeah. Bart and Homer will be the next two," Julie's voice comes from the other end of the table. "Holly's not into obvious names. And she likes themes."

"TV shows?"

"All sorts. You'll see."

"Owen?" It's Jaco Bouwer's quiet voice from in front of him again. "Would you be able to extend her neck for me so I can draw blood?"

"Sure. Show me what to do." He lifts his hands away from the cat.

Jaco comes around the table to stand next to him.

"Put your right hand on the side of her face, like this. Can you feel how I'm doing it?" Auggie reaches out. The vet's hand is over the side of the cat's face, fingers under the jaw pulling the head back.

"Yeah."

"All right. My left hand is on her shoulder." Auggie finds it. "You'll need to put your thumb in here for me. In this groove between the bone and her wind pipe. Can you feel that?"

Yeah. Got it."

"That closes her jugular off at the base so I can find it easily up here on the side of the neck. That's where I collect the blood. You can feel the groove where it runs up the side of her neck." Auggie traces it up. Holly Webster may have the schoolmarm demeanor, but it's Jaco Bouwer who is the real teacher here.

"Could you pull her head back for me then, please? I'm going to clean the area with some disinfectant." Auggie can smell it. "All right, now close off the jugular for me, please." Auggie does.

Around him the other volunteers are busy too: calling out body length measurements and temperatures; commenting on clusters of grass seeds in the fur (they must be grooming Marge to within an inch of her life). There are complaints about the flies.

"Anyone wanna volunteer to swat the guy crawling up the back of my neck?" Auggie interjects, looking up with a grin. "My hands are kinda full right now, and it's driving me crazy." He exaggerates a pained look.

There is laughter. A hand brushes the fly away. "There you go. It's gone. They're awful, aren't they?" It's Eva, the Dutch daughter.

He has broken through the barrier of awkwardness that all too often stands between him and people who don't know him. The general chatter expands to include him.

And he hadn't even needed a blind joke.

Never in his wildest dreams could he have imagined himself doing anything like this. It's far enough removed from his normal context to be surreal.

He realizes to his surprise that he is actually enjoying himself. He'd almost forgotten that feeling.

* * *

Distracted for a moment by the laughter from the other table Annie looks up from where she is taking a shoulder to foot measurement on Lisa. Auggie is holding the other cheetah in position for Jaco Bouwer while the vet draws a blood sample. She watches as the Dutch teenager brushes a fly off the back of his neck. He is talking, laughing with the others at the table – confident, self-assured. Quintessential Auggie. Her heart contracts. Jaco Bouwer looks up, says something to him. He smiles; lets the cheetah's head go; says something to the vet, who puts down the blood tubes and then bends the cat's foreleg for Auggie, guiding his left hand down it. Auggie has to lean over in order to assess the full length of the leg. He fingers the cheetah's paw as the vet earnestly explains something to him. He is so obviously engaged with what the man is saying – giving him his full focus. That too is Auggie. He's never half with you. She has always thought that's why he has so many friends. He makes people feel like they matter to him.

He makes her feel like _she_ matters to him. He always has.

He won't tell her that any more, though. Because she has asked him not to. And Auggie, being Auggie, respects that.

For the first time in a very long time she wishes he didn't.

She pushes the wish back down. Each of them has made terrible choices. They seem unable to help themselves. They keep poisoning the beautiful thing between them, over and over again. And she can't live with the constant tension, the guilt, the _hurt, _any more. She needs some kind of peace, emotional safety.

This place is making that too easy to forget.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

_Monday June 23__rd__, 2014_

_Otjindawa Nature Reserve, Namibia_

Annie finds Auggie leaning against the wall of the center's kitchen, just down from the outside hand-washing sink. He is standing in a pool of morning sun, eyes closed, cane resting loosely against his shoulder. His hands cradle a cup of coffee.

"Didn't take you long to find the caffeine, I see," she says, leaning up against the wall next to him.

"I have my priorities," he tells her, opening his eyes. Then he turns to smile at her. "Actually, Michael took pity on me. I think he's appointed himself coffee-angel this morning."

As if to prove Auggie's point, the dark-haired young man with the easy smile is approaching. "Owen, you still OK? Laura? Coffee for you? I'm pouring."

"Please! You're a lifesaver, Michael!" She sends him a radiant, Laura Pritchard smile.

Michael, basking under the glow of it, blushes and stammers a little through his "No problem at all. How do you take it?" He gallops off eagerly.

Auggie is chuckling. "Didn't take you long to get him under your spell."

"Some things are just _so_ easy," she replies smugly. "A flutter of the eyelids here, a 'special' smile there…"

"Wouldn't get far with that kind of thing with me." He's grinning. "I'm a _much_ tougher sell." He winks at her. She digs an elbow into him in return. Then she turns serious.

"Listen," she says quietly to him, "I think I've found Jaco's laptop."

His face changes. He raises his eyebrows at her. "You don't waste time, do you. Miss Walker?" She's surprised him. She feels a swell of satisfaction. "What's the score?"

"Hold on." She puts a warning hand on Auggie's arm. Michael is bearing down on them.

She plays Laura Pritchard for all she's worth. "Oh, Michael, you're an absolute star! Thanks so much!" Coffee is received, more effusive gratitude expressed and Michael departs to offer coffee to the two volunteers monitoring the cheetahs waking in the crates. He takes Auggie's empty mug with him.

Auggie has his hand on her elbow. "Let's go somewhere where he can't find us," he says.

She leads them around to the other side of the kitchen, a little distance away from the clinic. Stopping them under a thorn tree she turns to face him. Breaks contact with him.

"I asked Michael if there was somewhere secure I could keep my camera equipment. Figured if Jaco had a laptop and brought it down to the clinic he might want to store in a safe place…"

"And you hit the jackpot?"

"I think so." She elaborates for him. "There's a locked storeroom at the far end of the clinic where they keep the drugs and the dart gun and things. Michael let me put my stuff there. Didn't have a chance to have a good look around, but there _was _what looked like a laptop bag, branded with a South African Veterinary Association logo…"

"Nice work." Auggie is looking thoughtful. His forehead is creased in that tell-tale way of his. "What d'you think your chances are of getting a look in that bag?"

"I can figure something out." She is certain of it. She has Michael wrapped around her finger already, after all.

"OK. Great." He sounds distracted. She'd be offended, but she knows him well enough to know that it means he's already planning their next move. "If you find it, I'll need you to have a look at the make for me. If you get a chance to turn it on, boot it up, see if you can figure out what operating system he's running, and maybe antivirus software? That'll be even better. Not crucial, but it'll mean I can tailor something and we can get in faster."

"Spyware?"

"Yeah, something like that."

"OK. I'll see what I can do."

He doesn't respond. She gulps down her coffee and then gives him her arm again. "Come on. Let's go back before Michael sends out a search party for us."

* * *

They have barely gotten back around to the other side of the kitchen when Michael finds them. He's a little breathless.

"Listen, Owen. Sorry. Bit of a problem. The guys that went out with the vets this morning are going to take the cheetahs back now, as soon as they're awake. Which means they need me to go out on the second vehicle when Jaco darts these two. To help with the lifting and carrying and things. So I'm going to have to abandon you."

_And spend a little more time in the vicinity of Laura Pritchard_, thinks Auggie to himself, amused. He is finding Michael's crush on Annie seriously entertaining. And there's no question it could be useful. "No problem. You go on ahead. I'm good to just hang on here till you guys get back."

"You're sure? We won't be more than half an hour or so. We just want to get these next two done before it gets too hot, and it's warming up quite quickly today. Otherwise we would have waited until the guys got back from off-loading Marge and Lisa."

"I'm sure. Really. Go on. Take Laura with you."

If there's anything both spies and blind men know, it's how to wait.

Auggie makes his way to one of the picnic tables set out in the courtyard between the kitchen and the lecture hall, sits down on a bench, folds up his cane, and prepares to enjoy half an hour of winter sun and his own thoughts. Drifting in from behind him come the mingled sounds of voices and equipment being loaded onto vehicles in preparation for the next two cheetahs.

"Owen." Jaco Bouwer's voice, right at his shoulder, startles him. He hadn't heard the man's approach. Hadn't been focusing. "Are you coming?"

Auggie is confused. "I was gonna stick around here, actually. Didn't think there was space for me." _Translation: Risk of me making a spectacle of myself out there is pretty high. I'll stay put._

"There is space. If you want to come, please come. I'll make sure you know what's happening and what to do." There is obviously nothing wrong with Jaco's translation skills. Then Jaco ramps up the sales pitch. "I could actually do with another hand when it comes to lifting. Ernst is willing but his wife is worried about his back." That slight smile is in his voice again.

The smile is the thing that clinches it for Auggie. He can feel he's developing a connection with this man. The more he can do that, the easier it will be for them to turn him when the time comes. What's a bit of potential lost face in the bigger picture?

"OK. You win. I'm sold." He gives the vet a smile. Standing, he shakes out his cane and puts out his left hand. "Lead the way."

* * *

In the end, Auggie manages to emerge from the entire experience completely unscathed, largely due to Jaco's singular attention to detail and his penchant for information sharing.

By the time they move off he already knows the make of vehicle (Toyota Land Cruiser, single cab, open back), the layout (bench along the length of each side, tailgate – open, bars on sides and back – good handholds), what equipment they have and where (Jaco's darting box, medical kit, plastic tub with various items on the left hand bench near the front; stretcher on the floor between the two benches; bucket with wet towels on the floor next to the stretcher, front left, in case they have a cheetah that overheats; oxygen cylinder next to that; dart gun in its case on right hand bench near the front), and where best to stand (left hand side, back against the cab – that way there is something to hold on to on both sides - roof and side bars).

Jaco is next to him at the front – presumably monitoring the safety of the gun and the oxygen cylinder. The vet stands with his back against the cab as they drive, painstakingly answering all the questions put to him by the others in the group.

They stop near the small management camp where Bart and Homer (Auggie _still_ finds that funny) have been moved in readiness for the morning's procedure. Everyone clambers off the vehicles. Jaco doesn't offer any physical assistance to Auggie, merely informs him that he has a clear path down the left hand side to the tail gate and lets him organize himself. It's good enough. When Auggie hops down he discovers Annie has come across from the other vehicle and is waiting for him.

"Thought you weren't coming," she says.

"So did I." He smiles. "Jaco had other ideas."

She pulls him a little away from the others. "You like him." She says it appraisingly. He can't decide whether or not he's picking up a hint of accusation in her tone too. He lets it ride.

Shrugging non-committally he says, "I'm building up some rapport with him."

She makes no reply.

He asks: "What's happening?"

"He's doing things with drug bottles and syringes and tranquilizer darts. Getting the drugs into the darts, I guess." She pauses. "Now he's getting the gun out of the case."

Jaco's voice cuts across the general chatter. "OK, everyone. I'm going to go up now and dart the two cheetahs. I want only Michael, Paul and Owen with me. If the rest of you can have the vehicles ready to reverse up to the gate so that we can load and go as soon as I radio you that they're down, please? Julie, Sarah and Bianca will show you what to do. The first cheetah to go down will go in with Sarah and Bianca's team. My group, we'll take the second one."

_Hell. This is going to be interesting. _

Jaco is at his side. "Owen? Are you ready?"

"What exactly are you gonna need me to do?"

"You'll come down with me now. You can wait with Paul and Michael while I dart the cats. Once they're both down I'll bring you with me into the camp. I'm going to need you to carry the cheetah with me to the vehicle – it's about thirty meters, even ground - and help me load him in once we get there."

"OK. Sounds doable." He hopes so, anyway. _One problem though. _"Is my cane gonna be in the way? Should I leave it here?"

There's a pause. "Yes. Maybe. If you're comfortable with that."

He isn't. But he's not going to admit it.

Annie pipes up. She's obviously been listening to their conversation. "I can take it if you want. I'll put it up on your vehicle - on the bench next to where you were standing."

_Better Annie than someone else_.

He folds it up. Holds it out. She takes it. Touches him on the arm. "Have fun," she says.

Jaco takes him and the other two men a good distance further up the road and then stops. "If you could wait here," he says, "I'm going to go on ahead. They're less nervous if they see just one person rather than a group. I'll come back for you once the darts are in."

They stand and wait. Auggie feels adrift without his cane. It's amazing how much he's come to rely on it as an anchor. Standing in the middle of open space like this with nothing to ground him is disorienting. He bottles the slight anxiety that wells up.

The loud pop of a gun sounds, and shortly thereafter a second one. Within a minute Jaco is back. "Two clean shoulder shots." He sounds pleased. "We can go and wait at the gate." He offers Auggie a lead.

While they walk Auggie asks him about the gun. "Gas propulsion?" he asks. "Sounded like it. Relatively quiet."

"Yes. C02. This is a Dan-Inject JM Special. The other type of gun I use, Pneu-Dart, uses .22 blanks. It's a lot louder." They've stopped. Auggie assumes they're at the gate. "Here. Would you like to have a look?" Jaco asks.

"Sure."

"OK. Hold out your hands. I'm going to pass it over to you. It's not loaded."

Auggie holds out his hands. The rifle arrives in his hands. He examines it with interest – long, narrow barrel extending all the way from front to back, metal mid-section with sight above and trigger below; hand grip behind the trigger; distinctive oblong metal canister screwed above and in front of the trigger with a dial just behind. "Pressure regulator," Jaco says. "And then behind that is the pressure gauge." Auggie fingers it. "And the pressure chamber is just behind that. Yes, that's it - that long cylinder under the barrel behind the trigger." Right at the back, above the plastic shoulder-stock Auggie finds a protruding lever. "That's where we load the darts," Jaco tells him. "You unscrew that and then push the dart into the barrel. It's very simple."

"What's the range?" Auggie asks. He's missed gun talk.

"Maximum thirty meters. But I try to go for twenty meters or closer. There's more guarantee you'll get the dart in where you want to that way, that you don't have to take a second shot. The darts hurt."

"That's pretty close." Auggie is surprised. "Must be hard to get that right when you're darting in the wild."

"It is. I've had to wait for hours in trees before to get a decent shot."

"It's true," says Michael. "I've seen it." There is general laughter.

The cats are apparently going down. Once Jaco has determined it's safe for them all to go in, he radios the vehicles to come down to the gate.

He comes back to them. "You and Paul take Homer," he tells Michael. "Owen and I will fetch Bart." He touches the back of Auggie's left hand. "Let's go," he says.

They reach the cheetah. Jaco orients him and then instructs him on the carrying. "You just want to scoop both arms under the abdomen and let the hind quarters and tail rest over your arm. I'll be supporting the chest. You ready?"

_As ready as I'll ever be._ He has squatted down, hands under the cat's abdomen. "Ready."

"On three. One…two…_three_," and they're up. "Come alongside me," Jaco directs. Auggie does. "Good. Let's go…"

They go.

They arrive at their vehicle just as the other one is driving away. Jaco calls to someone on the back, "Here, take him," and Auggie can feel the cat being pulled forward. "That's it – let's just lay him on his left side like that." Jaco assists him.

"He's in, Owen. I'm just climbing up, now." There's a grunt from the vet and then: "Give me your hand". Auggie reaches up with his left hand. His right hand finds the edge of the tailgate and he gets his foot up onto it. He is hauled up. He makes his way carefully up the left side of the vehicle – feet feeling the way carefully between the cheetah's back and the bottom of the bench, hand on the side rail of the vehicle. One of the volunteers is calling out the cheetah's temperatures. Jaco is already at the front. He bangs on the roof of the cab. "Let's go." he says. The vehicle accelerates.

Auggie arrives to stand next to Jaco. He leans back against the cab. He can feel himself grinning.

"Thank you. Nice work," he is told. A hand claps him on the front of his shoulder. The vet is facing forward this time. Auggie turns around too. The wind blows into his face as they drive.

He doesn't even bother to look for his cane until they reach the clinic.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

_Monday 23__rd__ June, 2014_

_Otjindawa Nature Reserve, Namibia_

Annie deserts him after lunch.

She's told him all about her frustrating morning trying to have a look at Jaco Bouwer's laptop. She'd gone into photographer mode – Laura Pritchard in her element – taking photos of _everything – _cheetahs, volunteers, interior and exterior of the clinic. (And no, he had not failed to notice how many photographs she'd taken of Owen Garrett. That had been encouraging). Though the photography had necessitated frequent trips into the storeroom to fetch alternative lenses, her flash, another memory card, she'd been unable to capitalize on any of those visits. Apparently, the clinic refrigerator is _also_ in the back room and the vets were constantly walking in and out to put samples into it and take vaccines out. The risk of being caught had just been too great.

Jaco Bouwer hasn't been at lunch. Michael, coming over to join them towards the end of lunch, tells them the vet is still up at the office doing admin work.

Annie asks Michael if there would be a problem if she were to walk up to the clinic. "To reorganize my camera gear. I left it in such a mess." She's apparently spotted another potential opportunity. The Laura Pritchard charm is out in force again.

"Oh, no need to walk! I can give you a lift up on the quad bike." Michael sounds even more enthusiastic than usual.

"Really. It's no problem." Annie obviously hasn't missed the slight quirk of Auggie's eyebrows. She sounds like she's suppressing a giggle. "I'd prefer to walk, actually. It's such a gorgeous day." _Poor Michael._ "Will I be able to get into the back room when I get there?"

"Yes." Is Michael sounding a little forlorn? "If it's not open, Jaco has the keys with him."

"Awesome! Thanks."

"While I'm here, Owen," Michael is recovering nicely, "you remember you wanted to talk to Jennifer to get background information for your article?"

Auggie nods. "Yeah?"

"She wanted to know if you could perhaps meet with her straight after lunch."

"Shouldn't be a problem. Where does she want to meet?"

"Here, if that suits you. She said she'd come down and find you. I'll just give her a ring quickly and let her know."

His footsteps disappear in the direction of the reception desk and presumably the phone.

Annie leans over to him and whispers: "Who's Jennifer?"

"No idea." says Auggie. He grins, leaning back and lacing his hands behind his head. "This could be interesting."

"It _could_," she muses. "I'm kinda sorry I'm not going to be here to watch."

"You abandoning me in my time of need, Walker?"

"Yep," she says cheerfully. Mercilessly. "I have other plans."

"Oh, you _do_, do you?" There is a flirtatious undercurrent in the air. It's tantalizing.

He wants to capitalize on it, to search for her hand, but the unmistakable sound of approaching footfalls interrupts them. _Damn._

"She's on her way down," announces Michael. "Won't be too long."

"That's my cue, then," says Annie. "I'll head off." Standing up, she places a hand on Auggie's shoulder and bends to down to whisper in his ear. "Be nice to the boy." His frustration at the interruption must have shown on his face.

Then she kisses him on the cheek. "Bye," she says out loud. "See you a bit later?"

"Yep." He catches her hand. Gives it a little squeeze. Lets her go.

"Bye, Michael," calls Annie, breezily.

* * *

Auggie uses the brief time he has before his meeting with the mysterious Jennifer to compose several (he hopes) journalistic-sounding questions about the set-up at Otjindawa. He has assumed, from Michael's initial message, that this is what the meeting will be about.

He doesn't have long to wait.

Determined footsteps (two sets?) coming towards him are followed by a confident "Owen Garrett? I'm Jenny Brandreth."

Auggie begins to rise, but is told "Please, don't stand. We'll join you here, if you don't mind."

_We? _Auggie is just about to ask when Michael announces himself. "Hi Owen. Sorry, you can't get rid of me today. Jennifer thought it would be good if I sit in on this too."

"Two for the price of one? Even better." Auggie smiles at him. He means it.

He has finally figured out who Jennifer is. Previously known only to them as J. M. Brandreth, she is the eldest of the trio of siblings who own and manage Otjindawa – the others being Holly, the youngest, and a brother in the middle. As such she's the big, big boss. He's sure he should be feeling flattered she's introduced herself as 'Jenny'.

Jennifer gets straight to the point. The meeting, it seems, is going to be all about the article. "We want to answer your questions as fully as we can." The subtext is: 'We want to make sure you write a glowing article on your experiences at our establishment. And get everything right.'

_You really don't need to worry, you know._

He almost feels guilty stringing them along. He poses his few questions, recording their answers. Jennifer know how to sell what they do, and sell it well. He's delighted. As part of their deal he's going to have to actually _write_ this article for Owen Garrett (an idea he's not relishing). If this woman is going to feed him great lines - and she's a consummate sound bite pro - he's absolutely going to take them. He's already mentally lifting large chunks of what they've told him straight out of his voice memos and into that article. _Win_.

Jennifer changes tack. "If we've answered everything _you _wanted to know, maybe you wouldn't mind us turning the tables on you for a bit?"

"Sure. What do you wanna know?"

"Good. Let's start with this. How are we doing?"

He's confused. "What d'you mean?"

"I mean…" A pause as if she's gathering her thoughts. "…we built our accommodation with _wheelchair_ access in mind and we've had several guests here with…mobility impairments but, until you approached us, we hadn't really thought about how what we do here might be particularly...accessible…for someone who is...visually disabled..."

_You can say 'blind,'_ he thinks. _I won't make you wash your mouth out with soap._

He can't decide if he finds her careful 'political correctness' irritating or amusing. He's a 'call a spade a spade' kind of guy and, though he respects other people's views on the subject, he generally finds tiptoeing around terminology exhausting.

"Um…" he says.

"What we're asking, really," she says, "is, is there more we can do? To make the experience better."

"For a blind guy?"

"Any blind guest."

_Ha! Made you say it._

"Braille the mini bar price-lists?" suggests Auggie. "Nice to know how much money you're drinking away in your room at night."

Michael snorts. There's a (disapproving) silence from Jennifer. _Oops. Not being serious enough here. _There's apparently more than just the one third grade teacher in the family.

"Sorry," he says. "Kidding." He offers an apologetic smile - genuinely considering their question now. "Actually, a braille copy of yourinformation folder _is_ something you could look into." He pauses. "Y'know, in all seriousness, you have two great assets here, and as long as you hang on to them, far as I'm concerned anyway, you're ninety-five percent of the way there."

"And those are?"

"Those are Michael and Jaco."

_But next year you may only have Michael, _he realizes soberly.

* * *

Their meeting done, Auggie stands, and begins folding open his cane.

"Can I give you a lift home on the quad bike?" Michael asks.

_Home._

He shakes his head. Gives the guy a smile. "Hate to be the second one to turn you down today," he responds, "but I'd also really like to walk." And then he remembers. "Could do with a guide to the start of the footpath, though. You mind?"

"Not at all." Michael's right there with a fuss-free elbow for him.

The walk does him good. He needs the headspace just to get perspective again. He feels as though he's been pulled under some kind of a spell and he _has_ to try and distance himself – from this place, from its people (especially Jaco Bouwer) and from _her._

Because he has a job to do.

Annie, in all likelihood, is back at the suite with the info he's asked for.

And he has a Trojan Horse to build.

* * *

Auggie doesn't seem particularly perturbed that Annie didn't get past the Windows 7 login screen on Jaco's machine. "Julie was working in the lab next door," she tells him. "I had to go quick - was worried she'd catch me red-handed."

"No biggie," he says. "We'll just have to work in real-time for a while instead of letting the trojan do all the work. I can work around the login, and then once we've got admin privileges we circumvent any firewalls we find. And then we're in. As soon as he links up with the Lodge's Wi-Fi he's fair game."

He's in his element, now. If she didn't know him as she does she'd wonder about the contradiction – the genuine warmth of the relationship he's beginning to build with Jaco and the cool, calculated relish with which he is planning the access, analysis and probably exploitation of the man's most private information. Sometimes it's easy to forget that under Auggie's good-natured, laid-back exterior lies a gifted, seasoned and ambitious spy.

It's the paradox that haunts both their lives.

When she first was sworn in at the CIA they'd asked if she would be able to keep her professional and private lives separate. She'd been naïve enough to say yes. And mean it.

She knows better now.

For people like her and Auggie – people who are passionate, who _feel_ things – there are no separate lives. There is no compartmentalization; there are no clear lines. There's a foggy mixture of instinct and intelligence, gut feel and hard data, feeling and fact. And always, _always_ there are choices that have to be made within that quagmire of uncertainty.

And because of the nature of the job they do – the work they both live for - the repercussions of those choices can be devastating.

She watches him from her vantage point on the deck – his fingers are tapping rhythmically over the keyboard, headphones are on. He's completely absorbed. She'd tried listening once to the feedback through his phones but it had been utter gibberish to her. He'd laughed at her and then turned the speed way, _way_ down until she was able to make out something. "You learn to 'speed listen' over time," he'd told her in his matter-of-fact way, "just like you learn to skim read. If you have to."

He mesmerizes her.

She'd told him that once, a long time ago. He'd taken it in jest – thrown back some witty remark - but she hadn't meant it that way.

She remembers watching him like this in a safe house in Barcelona – him waxing lyrical about another hacker's code - her laughing at him. There had been pain that day, too. But such simple pain in retrospect. Unrequited love is so quiet in contrast to the tumult that is devastated love.

She forces herself to look away – to drink in the stark beauty of the space surrounding her; to allow it to scrub out her soul again; the way she's finding it can.

"Walker." He breaks into her reverie. She turns around. He is leaning back in his chair, stretching out his back, headphones around his neck - holding out a flash drive in her direction. His characteristic, satisfied, 'I'm so clever' grin of accomplishment draws a responding grin from her.

He _is_ so clever.

She stands up and goes over to him. Takes the drive from his hand.

"Miles Davis?"

He laughs. "Maybe not _quite_ that sophisticated," he replies, "but it'll do the trick."

* * *

_AN: Just want to send out a heart-felt thank you to those who have taken time out to write such encouraging reviews. I'm already loving every minute of writing this, but knowing you're enjoying reading it is the proverbial cherry on the cake._

_xxx_


	10. Chapter 10

_AN: Some strong language._

* * *

**Chapter 10**

_Monday June 23__rd__, 2014_

_Otjindawa Nature Reserve, Namibia_

His last-minute decision to join the others for the late afternoon game drive has taken Annie by surprise.

To be honest, it's kind of taken him by surprise, too. He'd totally been planning on avoiding this pointless (to him) daily activity for the duration of his stay - in favor of more productive things such as working on reducing his sleep deficit.

But his earlier conversation with Jennifer and Michael has shifted something. Before that, writing Owen Garrett's article had just been a necessary chore – something he was going to have to do in exchange for his chance to get out into the field again. He's feeling differently now: a little less flippant, a little more conscious. As if he somehow owes it to someone, somewhere, to at least try and engage in the experience he's being offered.

"Auggie Anderson on safari," Annie muses. "Who'd have thought?"

"That's the thing about us International Men of Mystery," he informs her, pulling on a fresh t-shirt. The morning's work and the heat (he doesn't want to imagine what it's like here in summer) have taken their toll on the other one. "We can blend in anywhere."

"Oh yeah?" She sounds skeptical. "Maybe you should have done some better pre-expedition shopping, then. That shirt's going to lose you major safari points."

He's dismissive. "I can just tell everyone I thought it was khaki."

* * *

Maybe it's exactly because his expectations are so low that he finds he's deriving an unexpected, quiet pleasure from being there.

For sure, listening to other people exclaim over the zebra or antelope or aardvark they're seeing is just about as enthralling as he'd imagined it would be.

But he's always enjoyed people-watching, and the people behind him on the vehicle make an interesting microcosm.

There's poor, henpecked Ernst, who is never allowed an opinion on anything unless Heike-the-Hen has vetted it first. There are the four kind, but smothery, British retirees, who have fully adopted the two young volunteer vets, and to a certain extent Annie. He thanks his lucky stars Holly decided to place him with Jaco's group. Their fussing and clucking would have driven him completely crazy within an hour. And he has no doubt they'd have found him an ideal candidate for their well-intentioned ministrations. (Annie has far more forbearance than he does.) Then there's bubbly, funny Julie-the-Nurse - the includer of the group – who is still making sure that quiet and withdrawn Marijke is taken care of. Marijke's teenage daughter, Eva, is more outgoing than her mother, and hasn't struggled to fit in quite as much. Except when it comes to him. The minute he addresses anything in her direction she starts stammering and fading and throat-clearing. He'd initially wondered if it was the usual blind-guy-nervousness thing, but more and more his suspicion is that Laura Pritchard may not be the only one of their journalistic duo to have made a conquest. _Poor kid._

In front of him Michael and James Webster – the third of the Otjindawa siblings, and the driver of the vehicle – are alternating between educating the group about what they're seeing (or not, in his case), and discussing between themselves (and with Jaco, seated next to him) the intricacies of bushveld and wildlife management. Being literally in the middle of _that_ conversation, and in the line of fire of the tourist lectures, he is getting the full benefit of both types of wisdom. And being the incurable information junkie that he is, he's loving it.

"_Shit_!" James Webster has jammed on the brakes. He is the absolute antithesis of his sisters – an unpolished, irreverent, say-it-as-it-is man of the soil. There is absolutely no doubt in Auggie's mind that he wears khaki. All the time. "How in _bloody_ hell did that stupid bugger get in there?"

Auggie leans forward, curious.

"Looks like the warthogs have been digging under the fence over there." That's Michael. "There's a pretty big hole. Maybe it got in there?"

"_Stupid_ bugger." James reiterates his verdict. "And there's a ruddy cattle grid on each end. It's not going to be getting itself out of there again."

This additional information is not helping Auggie in the slightest.

Jaco, apparently picking up on Auggie's body language, takes pity on him and explains. "An impala ram has got itself trapped in the corridor ahead of us, Owen."

"Corridor?" Auggie's still not getting it.

Michael leans back over the passenger seat to elaborate for him. "There's a double-fenced corridor all the way round the smaller reserve (where the Lodge and BornFree are) that separates it from the main reserve - to keep the big cats and other dangerous animals out of the area where the people are. So you guys can go on hikes and so on, you know, without us having to worry too much about you getting eaten."

"We're going to have to get the bloody thing out." James is still grumbling.

"It should be fine to wait until tomorrow." Jaco offers his opinion. "There's enough browse he can get to through the fence."

"Too late to do anything about it now, anyway, I think," Michael contributes. "Sun's already on its way down."

"Ja, but I'm not _here_ tomorrow," James is sounding stressed. "Local landowner's meeting." He's managed to get through a whole sentence and a half expletive-free.

"Jaco's here," Michael offers. "Maybe he can do it? We're doing two leopards and a lion in the morning, but maybe after lunch?"

"I'm happy to," comes the vet's reply. "I could even take him across into the small reserve for you. You were saying you wanted to get some new genetics into the population on that side."

"You know what?" James is sounding markedly less glum. "That's a bloody good idea. Let's do it."

* * *

Annie's been very quiet next to him for most of the drive. Not in a withdrawn, closed-off way, though, he senses. She just seems peaceful. Rested.

He's seeing a facet to her that he hasn't encountered before. Their context, both in private and professionally, has almost always been urban: Annie the career woman, the city girl – high heels and all; him the in-the-building guy. He's known she has a great-outdoors, nature-loving side, but has only ever experienced it remotely – rock-climbing expeditions he's had to pull her away from, hiking trips in Poland he's talked her through over satellite phones.

Now he's up close to it and he's entranced.

James has stopped the vehicle, cutting the engine. They've apparently come across a group of giraffe, browsing tranquilly in the gathering dusk. Initial exclamations of delight at the beauty of the sunset and the giraffe silhouettes have lapsed into a hushed quiet - the occasional click of a camera or murmured comment between people the only sounds from the vehicle. It's as if they've merged with the serenity outside.

He relaxes back against his seat, lulled by the gentle sounds of the bush - a scrub robin warbling nearby, the rustling and quiet chucking of spurfowl near the road, the distant clamor of guinea fowl. He smiles slightly to himself - Michael, Jaco and James's educational efforts, it seems, are reaping rewards. He has the beginnings of an African-bird-call-recognition repertoire already.

Next to him Annie takes in a deep breath and lets it out again – slowly, contentedly.

He turns towards her. "Sounded like a sigh," he says. "Like a happy, satisfied sigh." His words echo those of a long-distant conversation. He wonders if she'll catch the reference.

She sighs again. "It was." She is looking at him. He can tell. And she's smiling. He's not sure, but he thinks maybe she does remember.

And then, wondrously, she settles against him. And she leans her head against him. He lifts his arm and puts it across the back of the seat behind her. She nestles into his shoulder.

And it just feels so ordinary, so _normal_.

"For people like us there _is_ no normal," she had said to him on the night they'd begun to break everything.

But right now, just in this moment, there is.

All he wants is to hold on to it.

* * *

The magic lasts on even after they've arrived back at the lodge. She holds his hand - their fingers tangling loosely - as they walk up the path from the parking lot, through the dining area and out of the side door. Not guiding him - he's using his cane - just holding his hand.

When they reach the gap in the stone wall - the gap that opens into the parking area from which the path to their house begins, Annie bursts into delighted laughter.

"Auggie. Stop," she says, tugging on his hand. He stops. She lets his hand go.

"What's going on?" he asks her.

"Just walk on ahead," she tells him. "Towards your eleven o'clock."

"Annie?"

"Go!" She gives him a little shove.

He crosses the open space, and then his cane encounters a low barrier. He traces along it. It's a row of low stones, increasing in size and then stopping at a thigh-level post set into the ground.

"Keep going left," Annie calls to him. He does, and encounters another post and then a line of stones decreasing in size.

She crosses over to join him. He shakes his head, grinning at her. "Michael?" he asks.

"My guess," says Annie.

"Laura Pritchard," he tells her, "your boy is a wonder."

* * *

The spell between them may have been broken, but the lightness in him hasn't dissipated.

Back at their room, they discuss their next move.

Annie had been hoping to sneak Auggie's masterpiece onto Jaco's laptop under guise of fetching a different lens at the clinic prior to their game drive, but the laptop hadn't been there.

"I think he's taken it back to his room," she says.

"So what do you wanna do? Wait till tomorrow? Or do we try and get in to his room tonight?"

She doesn't even pause to consider. "Do you think you could run interference for me? Shouldn't be too hard for me to break in. And I won't have to stay long."

"I can buy the guy a drink or two. Find something to talk about with him. But keep your phone on you, so I can text if you need to make a quick exit."

"OK." A pause. "Listen, could we bug the room, too? Did you bring anything?"

He is almost offended. Raises his eyebrows quizzically at her.

She saves herself. "Of course you did," she says. "What was I thinking?"

Before they leave for supper he has added a discrete listening device to the miniature arsenal in her purse.

By tacit agreement they do not discuss the game drive at all.


	11. Chapter 11

_A.N: Some strong language in this chapter._

* * *

**Chapter 11**

_Monday 23__rd__ June, 2014_

_Otjindawa Lodge, Namibia_

It's one thing to tell Annie he'll buy Jaco a few drinks and get him talking; it's another thing to actually do it. One of the frustrating things about being blind is that it seriously hampers spontaneity. Meetings with people generally need to be engineered, arranged. It's not all that easy, when you can't see, to 'bump into someone' (in the metaphoric sense, obviously – literally it's all _too_ easy) or casually walk in and join a conversation. And arrival on someone's arm tends to smack of deliberate planning.

Auggie had hoped Annie would be able to maneuver him to a seat near Jaco at dinner so he could start up a conversation which they could then continue over drinks later. But Annie informs him, as they arrive, that Jaco has already been appropriated by the British tourists and is completely surrounded – there's not going to be a way in for him.

_Damn._

"Take me over to him?" he asks her.

"Sure." She guides him over. Stops. "Jaco?" she says.

"Yes?" He's turning towards them.

Annie gives Auggie's hand on her arm a light squeeze, and then detaches herself, giving him his space. Auggie takes over.

"Sorry to interrupt," he begins. "Can I bother you for a minute?"

"Yes, of course. No problem." He hears a chair beginning to scrape back.

"No need to get up," he stops Jaco hurriedly. "Listen, I was hoping we could make time to talk later? I wanna get a bit of your perspective on things for my article – the professional angle. If you wouldn't mind. Shouldn't take too long."

"I don't mind at all. After supper?" Good. This isn't going to be a problem after all.

"Yeah. Great. Thanks. Appreciate that." He smiles. Makes the offer: "I'll even buy you a drink."

"That sounds like a deal." Jaco's rare smile is there again in his voice. "Shall I come and find you?"

Auggie finds his own smile widening in response to Jaco's. He nods. "That'll be great. See you later, then." As he turns away he can hear Annie's footsteps as she comes back for him.

"Success?" she asks, linking arms with him.

"Success," he affirms. "And now food."

* * *

If there's anything Auggie is learning about Jaco Bouwer, it's how much the man loves his job. It comes through so very clearly in his answers to Auggie's (rapidly thought out during supper) questions.

They are the only two guests sitting outside in the area called the 'boma' - the sole beneficiaries of the open fire that has been built in the fire-pit for the evening. Possibly the cold of the night air has put everyone else off, but Auggie is loving the juxtaposition of chill at his back and heat in his face. Apart from their conversation, there's not much sound to mar the hiss and crackle of the flames and the ambient bush noise – crickets, nightjars and the occasional cry of a black-backed jackal.

Jaco had asked whether he'd prefer to stay indoors, but he'd opted for the boma - not only because of the appeal of the outside air, but also because it is further away from the Garden Rooms where Annie is going to be carrying out her work for the night.

Jaco is not an effusive man, in any sense of the word, but there is a quietly intense passion about him as he and Auggie talk about the work he does – the animals, the habitats that support them. Auggie is finding it increasingly difficult to reconcile the man he is speaking to with the man he has been sent here to turn; the fervent conservationist with the drug supplier of a poaching syndicate.

But Auggie also knows, because he's seen it so many times, has been there himself for that matter, how desperation can drive people to do extraordinary things. Devastating things.

They are interrupted by Annie, who had remained in the dining room chatting to one or two of the guests when Jaco and Auggie had come outside.

"You guys having fun?" she asks, touching Auggie lightly on the shoulder.

"Why?" he responds. "Feeling left out?"

"Very!" she retorts promptly. "But I'm an understanding woman, and I know how you guys need your man time…" She ruffles his hair.

"You're a _wise_ woman," he tells her.

"Listen," she says, "I'm going to catch an early night. You OK to get back on your own?"

"Yeah. No problem." He blesses Michael again. Because of that marked path he's not going to have to rush things with Jaco. Instead of just delaying him for a short while for Annie's sake, he can take the opportunity to draw him out – see if he can unearth anything that might explain the man's actions.

She bends down to kiss him lightly on the cheek. He reaches up for the hand she's rested on his shoulder, tangling his fingers in hers. She allows her hand to linger there just a little and then pulls away.

"Don't drink _too_ much," she says. "I don't want to have to send Michael out to pull you out of a thorn bush in the middle of the night." And then she turns.

Her footsteps recede.

_Good luck, Annie Walker,_ he tells her in his head.

* * *

They move on from beer to Bells. (Auggie had suspected Jaco might be a Scotch whiskey man. He'd been right.) The conversation drifts away from Jaco's work and onto other topics – Africa versus America, Johannesburg versus New York (Owen's home town), city versus country. Auggie reminisces about childhood holidays on friends' farms. Jaco tells him about his own farm in Malelane – south of the Kruger National Park in South Africa.

"My wife loved it there," he says quietly.

"Loved?"

"She died two years ago."

"I'm sorry." Auggie knows his sincerity has been apparent in his voice. He doesn't need to add anything. Lets it linger.

They're silent for a while. Auggie leans back, cradling his glass in both hands. The fire cracks and Jaco stirs, gets up. There's a scrape as he pushes a new log onto the fire. He blows gently. Heat flares.

"You and Laura seem happy." Jaco breaks the silence. Settles back into his chair. He sounds…wistful.

Auggie doesn't know how to answer. The moment weighs heavy on him.

Then, for reasons he can't untangle, he answers as himself – not Owen Garrett. "We are. Have been." He sighs. "I don't know. It's complicated."

Jaco doesn't comment. In the space Auggie finds a little clarity – a way to steer the conversation away from the murky waters that are his own life, and back to Jaco's.

"Both of us lost someone before we got together. Unexpectedly. Violently. I wonder sometimes if that's made us afraid…" Auggie tails off.

"I can't imagine ever loving anyone else." Jaco says it so softly Auggie can barely hear him. His words carry a lot of pain.

"How did she die?" Auggie asks gently.

"She was shot. In our kitchen. While I was in the garage right on the other side of the wall. I couldn't do anything for her." His voice cracks. The wounds are still so fresh. "She was already gone when I got to her. All I could do was hold her."

Auggie is unable to respond for a long while. His own memories are too strong.

"I couldn't even hold my wife," he eventually says. It comes out strangled – he can hear the tears in his own voice. _Shit. Pull it together, Anderson._ He clears his throat. "There were still bullets flying everywhere. The cops held me back. Wouldn't let me go to her." It's not the whole truth, but it's close enough to conjure up clear images of that day in his mind. Images of Helen. His throat closes up again. He swallows.

"Your wife was shot too?" Jaco sounds stunned.

"Yeah. We got caught in the crossfire in a shoot-out between gunmen and police in Rome. Seven years ago. On vacation. Kinda thing you can't imagine actually happening."

"Sjô." The Afrikaans expression carries so much emotion – shock, empathy. Jaco breathes out audibly. "So you know what it's like."

"Yeah. I know."

"And now?" There's something in Jaco's voice. A longing. An appeal for hope.

"You move on," Auggie tells him. "You take it with you. But you move on."

* * *

Annie could probably have picked the lock with a paper clip, it's that sophisticated. With her lock-picks she's got it open literally in seconds. Closing the door quietly behind her, she checks that the shutters are closed and uses the flashlight on her cell phone to scan the room.

It's smaller than her and Auggie's room – just a double bed, a small wardrobe area, bathroom, and a counter on which are a tea-tray and kettle, and Jaco's unopened laptop bag.

That's her priority. She unzips the bag, gets the laptop out and open, plugs Auggie's flash drive into one of the USB ports. Then she turns the machine on.

Next she looks for a good place to hide the listening device. The range is not too bad, Auggie has told her, but she decides to try for a place near the door in case Jaco, like many people, wanders in and out of his room when on the phone.

Using the Swiss Army knife she keeps in her purse she unscrews the fingerplate of the light-switch at the door, attaches the bug on the inside of it, and then screws the plate back into place.

Then she starts systematically going through the room.

Jaco is neat and methodical. He unpacks thoroughly, obviously not the type to live out of his suitcase. She carefully checks through all the clothing on his shelves, through his laundry items. In his apparently empty suitcase she hits pay dirt – a manila folder tucked into a zipped pocket inside the lid of the case. It contains two photographs of a woman and man – one of them embracing each other, the other of them holding hands and laughing. She doesn't recognize the man. The woman, she thinks, might be Jaco Bouwer's late wife – Michelle.

The folder also contains what looks like a set of phone records for a cell phone - with one number repeatedly highlighted.

Rummaging through her purse for a second flashlight, she illuminates the contents of the folder, photographs each item with her phone, and then returns everything to its original place.

Auggie's trojan has uploaded itself and so Annie removes the flash drive, shuts down Jaco's computer, wipes it clean and replaces it exactly as she had found it into its bag on the counter.

She continues her search of the room.

She makes her second discovery in Jaco's nightstand.

Secreted in the locked (but also too-easy-to-get-open) drawer is a Walther P38 9mm Parabellum pistol.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

_Monday 23__rd__ June, 2014_

_Otjindawa Lodge, Namibia_

For the second time that day, Auggie Anderson finds himself grateful for the walk between the Lodge and their room.

He needs it. Again. To get his head straight. To try and mentally claw his way back towards the fine line which exists between identification with a target's emotions and emotional investment in the target. The one he suspects, deep down, he's just crossed.

It's a nebulous, shifting line – labile - so very easy to drift over. He and Annie know that intimately – they both have ample experience.

They also both know what drifting over it can cost.

Maybe that's why the CIA tells you, _trains_ you, to stay well away from that line. _Be a good spy. Separate your work from your personal life. _

Auggie stopped buying into that a very long time ago.

Because instinct is _the_ most valuable thing truly talented spies bring to the table. Not training, not good spy craft, not experience. As important as those things are, they're merely support tools. The crucial, pivotal moments in any mission often involve dealing with the questions that lie right on that ill-defined line – do I trust or not, do I lie or not, do I act or not, do I believe or not? They're emotional questions. _Gut_ questions.

Annie's gut is what had given her the edge in bringing down Henry Wilcox. Others with more experience, training and access to intel had failed. She'd gotten to _know_ the man, to recognize his twisted logic, his warped perspectives. He doesn't even want to think about the lines she'd crossed in order to do that. Intuition is no respecter of arbitrary boundaries.

His own gut is what had driven him to risk everything he had in order to prove Annie's innocence as she lay unconscious in a hospital bed, her lover in a morgue, layer upon layer of incriminating evidence forming against her. He'd known she was not a traitor. With every fiber of his being, he'd _known_. And he'd been right.

And now he's feeling the same way about Jaco Bouwer.

He needs to be very, very careful.

Because he's made mistakes before. He's well aware he is prone to believing the best about people, even when he shouldn't. Annie calls it positivity, romanticism. He has other words for it.

He'd thought he'd known Helen.

And she'd devastated him. Calculatingly. Knowing what it would do to him.

And yet when she'd come back, he'd allowed her to break through his guard again.

He wonders if he'll ever forgive himself for making that choice.

* * *

It's almost midnight when the door quietly and cautiously opens and Auggie slips in. She has to smile. She's reminded of her teenage self, sneaking in after curfew.

"You're grounded, young man," she tells him. "Do you know how worried I've been? I was just about to start calling all the hospitals."

She's startled him. He whips around to face her. Then he relaxes. Breathes out. Gives her a wry grin. Folding his cane, he walks to the table and places it next to his laptop, which he opens and switches on. "You should cut me some slack, you know?" he informs her. "Keeping an eye on the time? We blind guys are at a disadvantage there."

"Har."

The joke had been half-hearted. She can tell his mind is elsewhere.

She sits cross-legged on her bed and watches him track the edge of the table with the backs of his fingers, seeking the chair tucked in a little further around. He pulls it out, turning it so that when he sits his back is to his computer and his face is towards her. He leans back, hands behind his head. Classic Auggie.

"So?" he asks.

"Simple in-and-out," she tells him. "Almost too easy. Gave me a chance to look around a bit, though."

"Nice," he approves. "Anything interesting?"

"Maybe." She tells him about the gun and the folder.

Like her, he seems unperturbed by the gun. Holly, Michael and James all wear handguns on their hips. It's a reasonable precaution when dealing with potentially lethal animals day in and day out. It seems likely Jaco would do the same.

When she describes the contents of the folder, though, he turns thoughtful. Pensive. He sits forward, elbows on his knees, mouth in a grim line. "What?" she asks him.

"He's really struggling to move on from his wife's death," he tells her. His voice is low. "I mean _really_ struggling." He exhales slowly. A deep sigh.

"You think this might mean something?"

"I dunno." He shrugs. Hesitates. Sighs again. "You know the old 'love, money, patriotism' thing – how people can be turned. It works the other way too - something must've made him turn in the first place. And his feelings about her are _strong._ There might be something there."

He looks as though that bothers him.

And that bothers her.

Jaco logs in to his laptop in the early hours of the morning.

The bug Annie placed in his room has relayed nothing more than the general sounds of a person getting ready for bed. Auggie is just beginning to resign himself to the fact that they're probably going to have to wait until daylight when he hears the 'alert' sound on his laptop notifying him that they're in.

Annie has been making similar noises to those coming from Jaco's room – clinking of cups and kettles as she makes tea, rustling as she gathers clothes, brushing of teeth interrupted by the door of the bathroom closing; the door opening again; a muted creak as she sits on the edge of her bed.

The ping of Auggie's laptop and the screen reader's intonation: "Access granted: Jaco Bouwer, PC," though, brings her back up onto her feet and over to him instantly.

"'Jake-oh'," she says - obviously tickled - mimicking the screen-reader's mispronunciation of the name.

"We don't all speak twelve or fifteen or –how many is it anyway? – languages, you know," he says, feeling a little defensive.

"Ah. So not just your computer then?" Annie apparently has no trouble reading between lines.

"At least I say it right now," Auggie tells her, still feeling the need to defend himself. "I'm thinkin' Voice Over is beyond help, though."

She pulls up a chair and sits next to him as he works. He reaches for his headphones, concerned that the largely unintelligible (to her), relentless monologue emanating from his computer might drive her to distraction. But she stops his hand with hers. "It's fine, Auggie" she tells him.

It doesn't take long for him to penetrate the majority of the other machine's defenses and gain access to everything on Jaco's hard drive. He's already channeling all the data through to Langley. They have the capacity and time there to sift, sort, translate, deduce. And they will.

That doesn't prevent him and Annie scanning through it, though – just to get a feel for what's there. Much of Jaco's e-mail and many of the documents are written in Afrikaans – a language Annie isn't familiar with. (Nor is Voice Over, apparently. The degree of gobbledygook produced when they open any of these items is alarming. And pretty entertaining.) Using her excellent Dutch, though, Annie is able to deduce the basic context of much of what they look at.

Even without Langley's help a picture slowly starts to emerge.

And then Jaco logs on to his banking website, unwittingly also giving them access to the last eight years of his financial life.

The picture pulls into sharp focus.

"Love, money or patriotism", says Annie. "Guess we know which one, now."

"Yeah."

He should be feeling elated, but the taste in his mouth is not one of victory.

It's one of bitter disappointment.

* * *

Once again he lies awake listening to the sound of Annie sleeping next to him.

It's not her fault he's not sleeping this time, though. Not entirely, anyway. This time it's his own rebellious mind that's to blame.

He cannot shake the feeling that it's all just too simple.

He thinks back on their earlier call to Joan and Calder.

"_He's in debt up to his eyeballs…Yeah…two loans…a mortgage…repayments…credit card bills…worst a year, six months ago…better now but still…we're looking at least million or so…no, rands, not dollars…"_

Desperate times, desperate measures. The fact that Jaco's finances have recently begun to recover is a further indication that he's tapped into an additional source of income. They have answers to their "why would he?" and their "what now?" questions. If nothing else, Jaco Bouwer will likely be very vulnerable to financial incentives. The chances of turning him are looking better and better.

It's good enough for Annie. It's good enough for Joan and Calder.

Why isn't it good enough for him?

_Occam's razor, Anderson. When you hear hoof beats, think horses, not zebras._

But he can't stop thinking zebras.

_Africa must be getting to his brain._

At about 3 a.m. he gives up on trying to talk sense into himself. Reaches over to his nightstand for his phone and headphones.

Sends a text to Joan:

"_Joan. Something not feeling right. See what you can dig up on the wife?"_

The reply comes back promptly.

"_Sure_. _No problem_."

He feels a familiar surge of affection.

Joan may now be the boss of his boss, but she's still in his corner.


	13. Chapter 13

_A.N: If you're South African, and rough language bothers you, this is a warning that you'll find some here. If you're not South African, you're likely to remain unaffected ;)_

* * *

**Chapter 13**

_Tuesday 24__th__ June, 2014_

_Otjindawa Nature Reserve, Namibia_

Despite his (now significant) sleep deprivation, he wakes before Annie.

Padding quietly across the room he begins the delicate process of attempting to restore his blood caffeine, without waking her, to levels at which he might actually be functional.

He investigates the shelf above the coffee maker.

The first jar he finds and opens reveals itself to be Annie's infamous bird food. He is momentarily tempted to repay her for his rude awakening the day before, but the temptation is fleeting - mostly because _he's_ in no state yet to be able to tolerate cacophony of any description.

He hits the jackpot with the second jar.

While the coffee brews he takes a quick shower. Pulls on jeans, t-shirt. Towels his hair some more. Adds a hoodie to the ensemble.

There is no evidence that Annie has yet stirred when he emerges. He doesn't disturb her. She can afford at least another half-hour of sleep before she'll need to be up, and he'd prefer to give it to her. Some solitude spent enveloped in (non-bird-food-induced) early morning African-bush ambience is immensely appealing.

He's not sure if it's the pristine crispness of the morning - the air filled with the easy sounds of birds and animals going about their early morning business, or his to-and-fro text session with Joan in the crazy hours, but he discovers, out there on the deck, that he has found some sort of inner equanimity. He still has no answers to the paradox he's been presented with in Jaco Bouwer, but he's somehow found the capacity to be able to hold the tension for now – the disappointment and the liking together in the same hand; a hope that his instincts and objectivity will eventually find a meeting place.

Annie shuffles outside shortly after he hears the alarm on her phone go off.

"There's coffee," he informs her.

"Yeah, thanks. I found it." She still sounds a little groggy. "How long have you been up?"

"About an hour." He doesn't feel she needs to know about the hours before three a.m.

"Anything come in overnight?"

"Dunno. Thought you might like to be around when I checked, so I waited."

"Thanks." She has that smile in her voice. The one that tells him he's touched her. He feels a subtle swell of contentment. "Wanna take a look now or can I shower first."

"Go shower, Walker."

When she emerges she refills their coffee mugs and pulls up a chair next to him. Her arm brushes his as she leans forward. His equilibrium tilts. He may have found stability as far as Jaco is concerned, but apparently that doesn't hold true when it comes to Annie Walker. He takes a deep breath. Subtly releases it.

Not unexpectedly they find very little. There's nothing on the audio recordings inconsistent with a man sleeping, waking and getting ready for the day. The only activity on his computer is another login to his banking website at 06h13. There has been no banking activity overnight.

At 07h08, though, Jaco makes a call. He doesn't address the caller by name.

He begins the call with characteristic well-mannered politeness.

Within seconds, though, he is patently agitated.

_Good Morning. It's Jaco Bouwer here…_

_My money is still not in my account. So where is it?_

A strangled noise of frustration.

_I just checked. It's not in…_

_No, that's kak_. The emphasis with which he says that last word leads Auggie to believe it's probably not a polite one.

_Ja, but you promised me yesterday. And the week before. And the week before that. I'm sick to death of your promises…_

_Uh-uh. No. No. You listen to me now. Listen clearly. I am gatvol_ _of this now. The money is in my account by midday today or I'm finished with you people. Finished. I'll find some other blerrie skelms. It's not like that'll be difficult. _You_ can explain that to your boss…_

There are no polite goodbyes. The call appears to have ended very abruptly. Followed by an expletive. And the sound of something smashing. Auggie hopes it's not Jaco's phone that paid the ultimate price.

"Wow." says Annie next to him.

"Yeah," he replies. "Wow."

* * *

On the morning's schedule are health checks on two of BornFree's leopards as well as a lion.

The leopards are, they are told, done very much in the same way as the cheetahs – knocked out in the field and brought into the clinic.

"Would you be willing to help me out with the lifting and so on again today, Owen?"Jaco is again measured and polite – pleasant but distant. Controlled.

It's as if the night before had happened in some kind of alternate universe.

As jarring as the reversion is, Auggie gets it. He's pretty sure that if he were able to make eye contact with Jaco, the man's eyes would be tending to slide away. Awkwardly. It's hard to know what to do after a conversation like they'd had the evening before, to know how to act around a person to whom you've unguardedly laid part of yourself bare.

If Auggie feels anything it's relief. The combination of social script and activity are going to be far less threatening to his hard-won detachment.

"Sure." Auggie respond to Jaco's request. Produces a smile. "Same procedure as yesterday?"

"Exactly the same as with the cheetahs." They are standing with the rest of the group and Jaco has raised his voice a little, presumably directing his words to the others as well. "We'll bring them into the clinic and do all the same checks and sampling. There's less risk of overheating with leopards but we'll still monitor temperature in the same way."

It _is _the same. Except for the cats.

Auggie has never really considered himself a cat person. Working with the cheetahs the day before had been fun, but that was far more to do with the uniqueness of the experience than the animals themselves.

This is different.

Their leopard's name is Pina. For a brief moment Auggie feels let down when he hears her name – it actually sounds African to him – a definite departure from Holly's usual style. He recovers, though, when he hears the name of the leopard Annie's team is working on. Pina's brother. Colada. Auggie's faith in Holly is completely restored.

To have his hands on her - to feel the incredible sleekness of the coat, but the delicate thinness of her skin; the expected size and power of the musculature under his hands (he remembers seeing a photo once of a leopard with its zebra kill in a tree), but her surprisingly small frame (she's smaller in stature than the cheetahs from yesterday) - becomes almost a spiritual experience for him. Jaco's descriptions of her and her kind add to the reverence he is feeling: their elusiveness, their stealth, their nocturnal nature. How very dangerous they can be, but how often they are underestimated. Their solitary nature, but their fierce protection of their vulnerable cubs. Their unrivaled agility juxtaposed with their huge capacity for indolence. Their beauty. Their cunning.

They are a magnificent study in contradiction, in paradox. He is bewitched by the enigma.

He doesn't fight the magic.

* * *

They don't bring Kipling, the lion, into the clinic. His sheer size means that it's easier if the vets check him in situ in his camp once Jaco has knocked him down. The nature of the task means that the vets do the majority of the work. The volunteers stand back and observe for the most part and then are allowed an opportunity to get up close to the impressive animal.

The terrain is rough - tussocks of grass, anthills, warthog holes. Auggie stands aside, Annie notices, unobtrusive, observing in his own way but not making any move to come forward.

She has realized that before this trip she's never really seen him alone in unfamiliar territory. Ha has DC comprehensively mapped, or so it seems to her anyway. When they've been away from DC he's either been next to her, _with_ her, or, when he's been on his own, she's been elsewhere.

Not watching him.

It's odd for her to see him deliberately place himself in the background. Quiet. Out of the way. She's known, cognitively, that this must inevitably be part of his reality sometimes. But she's never actually observed it.

She feels uncomfortable. Like a voyeur. She's felt like that only once before. On a bus in DC. She couldn't take her eyes off him then.

Jaco goes over to him. She watches them. Jaco speaking characteristically earnestly. Auggie bending his head a little – giving the shorter man his full attention. And then Auggie takes Jaco's offered arm and the two make their way over to the sleeping lion.

It soon becomes apparent that Jaco has, once again, requested Auggie's muscular assistance. A scale has been set up nearby. A stretcher is brought and placed against the lion's spine. Auggie folds up his cane and tucks it into the waistband of his jeans. He squats onto his haunches next to Jaco as the vet demonstrates to him what he needs to do, and then on a three-count the men (Michael has joined them) roll the lion over onto the stretcher. Then they each take a corner, Ernst-the-German taking up the fourth, apparently having been given permission by Heike to risk his back this time.

"Laura!" She takes a few moments to realize Auggie is calling her over his shoulder. Someone must have told him where she was. Michael sees her looking. Waves her over. She canters up.

"Hey," she says. "You need me?"

"Can you grab the middle between me and Ernst?" Auggie asks her. "Give us some extra lift, and maybe warn me if I'm about to fall into a warthog hole?"

"Sure."

They lift. Get the lion onto the scale without incident. "A hundred and eighty two kilos." Julie-the-nurse.

Jaco comes around. "We're all done," he says. "Thank you, Owen. Laura."

"No problem." Auggie is smiling at the man. A genuine smile. The reserve she'd detected (with some relief) in him, towards the vet, this morning – the distance he'd seemed to be placing between himself and Jaco earlier in the day - seems to have vanished completely. "Listen, do you reckon this guy's going to sleep long enough for me to get a guided tour?"

"I think we can risk it," says Jaco, returning Auggie's smile. "Here." He steers Auggie in the right direction. "But you'll notice I'm making sure you're closest to his sharp end, just in case." The man has made a joke. She wouldn't have thought it possible. They bend together over the lion. Auggie has crouched down. Jaco places Auggie's hand on the cat's massive paw.

The folded cane is apparently getting in Auggie's way. He pulls it out of his waistband and holds it out to Jaco. "D'you mind hanging onto this for me? It's hampering this operation." Jaco takes it.

Annie steps back. Unneeded. Superfluous.

She watches for a while as Auggie uncovers for himself Kipling's impressive contours, all the while listening intently to Jaco who is, in his now familiar way, meticulously talking Auggie through his exploration.

She eventually has to look away. Auggie is on his haunches behind the lion's shoulders, face turned up towards Jaco, fully focused on what the vet is saying to him. His right hand is idly fingering the lion's mane. A memory arises, unbidden. She and Auggie sitting together in his Corvette. Her ficus plant. Him fingering its leaves in exactly the same way.

A time before she consciously knew she loved him.

Her gut is tight. She can feel the anxiety that has constantly plagued her in the aftermath of Hong Kong, of Henry Wilcox, rising in her chest. She breathes. Focuses her thoughts. As she has had to learn to do. It subsides, but not entirely.

Auggie is too close to this man.

That makes her scared for him.

She denies the whisper of jealousy that accompanies the fear.


	14. Chapter 14

_Author's notes:_

_1) This chapter contains some strong language._

_2) A massive thank you to Mireille, who was so willing to help me figure out what someone who spoke Dutch would be able to understand when listening to spoken Afrikaans. Yes, recording of scenario enactments did happen :) _

**Chapter 14**

_Tuesday 24__th__ June, 2014_

_Otjindawa Nature Reserve, Namibia_

The volunteer group is taken by Michael to visit a neighboring facility - a vulture rescue center - after lunch

Auggie begs off, desperately in need of a siesta.

He has just settled himself – deliciously horizontal on the heavenly bed when the room phone rings. He sighs. Deeply. Gets up. Finds it. Answers it.

It's Jaco.

"Owen. How would you feel about helping me to move that impala?"

* * *

Jaco collects him at the room. The clanking and rattling accompanying the usual sound of the vehicle indicates they are towing a trailer of some sort. Jaco confirms it. It's a covered game trailer – like a wide horse box but with tarpaulin top and sides and a ramp that lifts up to form a tailgate which seals the back off completely. They will dart the impala, reverse the trailer into the corridor, carry the animal in, administer an antidote to the tranquilizer and then drive across to the small reserve where they will release him onto the plain - the area his and Annie's room overlooks.

They bump over a cattle grid and stop. Get out. The afternoon is warm and still. Only the sound of cicadas fills the space. Jaco is standing at the hood of the vehicle.

"Can you come around, Owen?" he requests. "I need you for back-up here."

Auggie tracks his way around. "What do you need me to do?"

"For antelope we use a different drug to those we use in the cats." There's the ripping sound of packaging opening. "It's called M99, and it's lethal to us humans. We have to be very, very careful with it. Even a drop in the eye can cause fatality. It causes respiratory arrest – you just stop breathing. So without mouth-to-mouth you're dead within five minutes."

"Wow." Auggie is taken aback. No wonder the drug is so strictly controlled. "But the antelope are fine?"

"Yes. It's the drug of choice for elephants and rhinos too. Very quick, effective and safe knock down."

"Surely accidents happen, though?"

"They do. That's why before we work with it we always draw up antidote in a syringe, ready to administer in case of emergency." He pauses. "I was working with another vet doing a game capture about five years ago and the dart she was loading exploded. Within a minute she had collapsed and started going cyanotic. It was unbelievable. I'd heard about it but seeing it was…" Another pause. "We couldn't give her mouth-to-mouth because there was M99 all over her face. If we hadn't had that antidote ready…" He trails off.

"She survived?"

"Yes. It was very intense though. We're lucky it only sprayed onto her. If we'd had two people down we could have lost one of them. We only had one dose drawn up. Since then I keep a loaded syringe and extra antidote in the cubby-hole (I think you call it the glove compartment?) of my vehicle, as an extra precaution. And I make sure I stay away from anyone else when I'm loading the darts."

Auggie has realized why Jaco has called him around. "You want me to administer this antidote to you if something happens?" He's not sure how he feels about that. Amazed, probably. "Jaco, you _do_ realize you're placing your life into the hands of a blind man?"

Jaco laughs. "Owen, if you'd seen some of the people I've had to trust on this…Believe me, an intelligent blind man is much less of a risk. Now. Here's the syringe…" He takes Auggie's hand and places it in his palm. "If something happens find my triceps, thigh or backside, uncap the needle, stick it in perpendicular to the skin, all the way, and push that plunger in. Through my clothes. Don't waste time trying to expose the area."

Auggie traces the syringe. Finds the capped needle. The plunger. Orients it in his hand. "Got it." He sincerely hopes he's not going to have to do anything with it.

"Good. I'm going to load the dart now. I'll stay here. Would you mind moving back around to the side of the vehicle?"

Auggie moves. Waits. It's not long before Jaco calls him. "I'm all done. You can come back around now. Let's go dart this boy."

_A walk to within range with Jaco…the pop of the gun…Jaco telling him the impala is down…back to the vehicle…reversing the trailer into the corridor…returning to the impala – which is not lying on its side as he'd expected but rather head up, legs tucked underneath his body…sleek coat, slightly curved horns…Jaco giving instructions as to how to carry the antelope…awkward trip to the trailer – the guy's significantly heavier than the cats, not as relaxed and his bulky back end makes it harder to get a decent grip on him…up the ramp and into the trailer…settled onto the straw bedding._

"Here." Jaco is beside him. Picks up Auggie's right hand and again places a syringe into it. "Why don't you give him the antidote? It'll be good practice for if you ever _do_ have to save my life."

Auggie grins. "Rather an impala than you." He holds out his left hand. "Wanna give me directions?"

_Hind leg…feel for the large muscle at the top…uncap the needle…hold syringe perpendicular (hopefully)…plunge needle in…inject…pull needle out…replace needle cap…carefully…ouch…not carefully enough._

"I'll take that." Auggie hands over the syringe. Jaco takes it. He hasn't even said 'Good job'. He seems to have taken it for granted Auggie would have no trouble.

Auggie realizes suddenly that at some point during the day he has drifted back over the blurred line.

Way, way over.

He's working purely on instinct now.

* * *

Annie arrives to an empty room and four bombshells.

The first three are delivered via a phone call from Joan which she receives literally a minute after stepping through the door.

"Hi Annie…glad I caught you…I've been trying to reach Auggie but he's not answering his cell…Listen. I'm assuming you've seen that Jaco Bouwer received two hundred fifty thousand rands into his bank account three hours ago…" _Bombshell One._

Auggie may have. Annie wouldn't know. _She_ hasn't. "Do we know who from?"

"Some legal firm. We've got Joburg checking whether they're legit or not."

"You think it could be payment for services rendered?"

"Could well be. The timing's certainly…interesting."

Joan moves on. "While we're on the topic of Joburg: Auggie asked me last night to do some looking into the wife…"

He had? That's the first Annie's heard of it.

"...so I got Joburg to look into that too. That source of theirs has already gotten hold of the police file on the murder for us. She's a quick worker. There was something interesting there. They recently re-opened the case. About three months ago."

"Why?"

"The only significant findings at the crime scene were three fingerprints – probably from the same person. They couldn't find a match in any of their data-bases, though. Then three months ago a Mozambican national was killed in a shoot-out between poachers and rangers in the Kruger Park. The result of an anonymous tip-off. His prints matched those found in Jaco Bouwer's house."

"Wow."

"Wow, indeed. There's something else though. The poachers were interrupted in the middle of a poaching attempt. They hadn't taken the horn, but there was a rhino already down. Down but alive. It had been tranquilized with M99." _Bombshell Two._

"Shit." It comes out involuntarily. Annie wonders if she should apologize.

The DCS solves the dilemma for her. "Yes. Exactly."

"You're thinking Jaco found out who he was somehow? Sent that tip-off? A revenge killing?"

"It's a possibility. There was a copy of the original police report in the data Auggie sent us off Bouwer's laptop."

"Joan," Annie's been hesitating over whether or not to mention her concern to Joan. She makes a split-second decision to do so. "Auggie's getting very close to him. Maybe too close."

"Emotionally, you mean?"

"Maybe. He really likes the guy. I think he's developed some kind of a deep empathy with him over the wife…"

"I guess that's understandable," Joan muses. "I hadn't thought of that." She stops. Annie waits. "Will you keep an eye on him for me, Annie? Keep me updated? I trust Auggie's instincts, but I'm worried that this, specifically, might make him a little vulnerable."

Annie doesn't need to have the reasons spelled out for her. To have your wife shot dead in right in front of your eyes; to discover she'd faked that death, knowingly let you suffer through all that grief; to have her return, have all those feelings resurrected, and then have to go through her being killed – really killed – all over again - that has to leave scars. Even seven months down the line. "I will, Joan."

"Oh. And Annie, one more thing. We went through Jaco Bouwer's Google search history. He's looked into both Laura Pritchard and Owen Garrett. We checked the sites he looked at. All of them were fine – Cover Ops had altered the photos and so on, so you should be all right. But just be careful, OK?" _Bombshell Three._

_Why would Jaco do that?_

_Shit, Auggie. Did you say something to him? _

_And where the hell _are _you? _

She finds her anxiety levels rising again. Concentrates on her breathing. Focuses. As she's had to learn to do.

She puts the kettle on to make a cup of tea. While she waits for the water to boil she skims through the audio from the morning. She's not expecting to find anything.

But she finds the fourth bombshell.

It's a phone call made by Jaco Bouwer immediately after lunch. In Afrikaans. But her knowledge of Dutch allows her to grasp enough of it to get the gist of Jaco's side of the conversation.

"Ja. Ek het die geld oornag gekry. Ons kan maar voortgaan."

_Yes. I got the money. We can continue._

"Reg. Ek reël dat julle die nodige items so gou moontlik kry"

_I…you…get the…?...as soon as possible._

"Reg so."

_Right._

"Ja, maar luister. Onthou ek het vir jou gesê daar's iemand wat in die pad staan. Ek gaan daardie situasie vroeër eerder as later moet hanteer.

_Yes but remember I said there's someone…in the road(?)...the way(?)...I think we should_ _handle this situation sooner rather than later._

"Ons het 'n goeie verhouding. Goed genoeg dat hy my vertrou. Hy vermoed niks nie."

_We have a good relationship. Enough that he trusts me. He doesn't suspect…_

"So gou al?"

_That soon?_

"Reg so. Ek dink ek sal miskien vandag 'n geleentheid kry. Sal sien wat ek kan doen."

…_I think I might get…today…Will see what I can do…_

Anxiety spirals upwards. Morphs into panic.

She doesn't breathe. She runs.

She has enough cognizance to slow when she reaches the main complex. Even so, when she finds Michael she is breathless.

"Hey Michael. Listen do you know where…" She catches herself just before she says _Auggie_. "…Owen is?"

"Yes. Sure. He went out with Jaco to help him move that impala for James." Michael looks at her, concerned. "Everything OK?"

"Yes. No. He has our room keys."

She's walking out as she says it. Gone before Michael even has a chance to offer to open the room for her using the master.

She sprints to the parking lot. Michael's quad bike is there, keys in the ignition. She's started the engine even before she's properly seated.

_Go, go, go! _

She frantically urges the bike along, hoping she's remembered the way to the corridor accurately. Landmarks are hard to come by in the Namibian bush.

_Please be OK, Auggie. Please be OK. _She says it over and over again. She can think nothing else.

It feels like a desperate prayer.


	15. Chapter 15

_A.N: Once again I'm giving you a strong language warning. Significantly strong ;)_

* * *

**Chapter 15**

_Tuesday June 24th, 2014_

_Otjindawa Nature Reserve, Namibia_

She sees the vehicle and trailer parked in the corridor. Slams the bike to a halt. Jumps off and starts running.

"_Auggie!" _She is almost screaming. Her heart is pounding.

Frantic, she opens her mouth to call out again.

His name dies on her lips.

Auggie and Jaco are emerging from the back of the trailer - Jaco looking startled, Auggie looking…she's not sure, but she can tell he's not pleased.

"Laura?" Auggie is calm. Icy even. She realizes that what she is seeing on his face is anger. Stone cold anger.

Relief is quickly being overtaken by embarrassment. Awareness that she's messed up. She has to undo this. "You took the room key," she tells him. She plays Laura Pritchard for all she's worth. Fakes agitation.

Auggie exaggerates a sigh. "Oops," he says. The sarcasm drips.

Annie takes a deep breath. Blows it out audibly - making a show of attempting to calm herself. She smiles sheepishly. "Sorry. Over-reacted. Was seriously pissed at you."

Jaco says nothing, just raises his eyebrows.

"Don't suppose you thought to ask Michael to let you in. That too obvious? What d'you do? Steal his quad bike?" His irritation is evident. She suspects it's more Auggie Anderson's displeasure that's showing than Owen Garrett's

"_Borrowed_," says Annie, feigning indignation. She's playing the role she's assumed to the hilt.

"Well, seeing as you came all the way here, you may as well go dig in my bag. Front seat. Key's probably there." His tone is one of annoyance. He's making his way towards the passenger door himself, the back of his hand lightly skimming the left hand side of the trailer, the vehicle.

She opens the door, makes a show of rummaging in his bag, finds something of appropriate size and pulls it out, gripping it in her palm to conceal it. It's a Swiss army knife. "Got it," she says, happily waving her clenched fist for Jaco's benefit.

"Good. Now go home." Auggie has reached her. Pats her on the shoulder. Leans over, pretending to kiss her on the cheek. Instead whispers through clenched teeth into her ear: "What the hell, Annie?"

She turns, mimes kissing him back. Murmurs: "Not here, OK? Later."

She turns back around. Waves airily at Jaco. "Bye," she says.

She goes.

* * *

Perhaps it is because he is still fuming about Annie's behavior that Auggie decides not to return to the room after he and Jaco have offloaded the impala. Instead he has a couple of beers with the vet at the bar. They only have forty or so minutes till dinner anyway. And he has to try and undo the damage Annie has done.

The simmering rage, though, persists - seems to affect his thinking, because he ends up sitting with the British contingent at dinner, having failed to plot his way out of it. By the time Michael offers him and Annie a lift back to the room an evening of "You're such an inspiration", "It's wonderful how well you cope" and "Laura must be a very special person" has him teetering on the brink of an eruption.

He and Annie say nothing to each other on the drive over with Michael. Instead Annie fills the space with inane Laura Pritchard small-talk. He should be grateful to her, but it just sets his teeth even more on edge.

When Michael stops the vehicle he is barely able to grind out a civil "Thanks, Michael" before he attacks the ramp. Once through the door he closes it behind him, snaps his cane down into its folded form and thumps it onto the table next his computer. Bending over he tries to calm himself, supporting himself with his hands, palms down, on either side of the laptop.

The door opens behind him. Closes again.

He isn't calm. He is quietly furious.

"What the hell was that all about, Annie?"

She doesn't even ask what he's talking about.

"I thought you were in danger, Auggie. I panicked." She is still at the door.

He stands up. Turns around. Faces her accusingly. "You nearly blew our cover, dammit." His voice is rising. "I had to invent some bullshit story about a nickname. About us having a fight after lunch and you still being mad at me."

"I'm _sorry,_ Auggie." She's distressed. Also a little defensive. "Joan called me. Said Jaco'd gotten a big deposit into his account. Said that the cops had traced his wife's murderer. That it was a poacher who got killed in a shootout with park rangers. M99 was involved. She said Jaco'd been looking into us online."

He's unimpressed. "I knew about the money. So what? It could have come from anywhere. We don't _know_ yet."

"So?" Now she's properly defensive. "You didn't know about the other things, Auggie. It looked _bad_. And then there was a phone call on the recordings. By Jaco. In Afrikaans. I couldn't get it all, but I thought he said there was someone in the way. That he was going to have to do something about it. Today."

"You _thought_?" He's taunting her. "And you put all this together and came up with what? That I was in danger of being killed? By _Jaco_? Out here?" Incredulous.

"Yes, Auggie. I thought there was a risk." _She's_ sounding angry now.

"Oh, for Chrissakes, Annie. This guy's a not murderer. I seriously doubt he's even a poacher." He puts a hand on the back of his neck. "He's not the type. I swear it. Goes against everything he is. Something else is going on here. I _know_ it."

"You _know_ it," she mimics. She's coming back at him. Resentful. Aggravated. "Like you knew Red Rover was an innocent girl caught up in a bad situation?"

"You're seriously bringing up Barcelona now?" That riles him. "That was a completely different situation. I didn't know her. I know Jaco." He flings his hands up in emphasis. His left hand connects hard with the corner of the shelf.

"_Shit!"_

He loses it.

"No. You know what this is, Annie?" He's yelling. Doesn't care. "This is you thinking I need rescuing. It _is_ Barcelona all over again, isn't it? You think I don't know what I'm doing. That I'm not capable of looking after myself. That I'm some kind of pathetic…" He doesn't finish. A small part of him is standing apart watching himself. Seeing the ugly self-pity.

He's too far gone, though, to claw his way back.

She is very angry now. Hot tears in her voice. "That's _crap, _Auggie. You _know_ it is." Her voice cracks. "It's about you throwing yourself in head first after your gut. It's about you trusting people despite evidence. It's about you putting yourself at risk. About not thinking what people who care about you might feel about that. "

"My _God_, Annie," He's absolutely incensed. "_You're_ going to talk to me about that? You who dived in after Henry Wilcox? No back up. No communication. No way for me to even know you were alive. You _knew_ what I felt about you…" His voice fails him.

"It isn't the same, Auggie." She sounds broken.

He doesn't care. The bitterness has him fully in its grip now. "Isn't the same, why? Because you're not blind?"

"_No!_" To her credit she sounds really pissed off at him now. "Because I wasn't basing everything on gut feel. I had _evidence_."

"Oh, come on, Annie. You know as well as I do that you'd have done it anyway. You work on instinct. Just as much as I do."

"Yeah. But…" She trails off.

"Yeah, but what? What's the big difference, Annie? "

She doesn't answer.

He persists. "Come on, Annie. What?"

She's hesitant. Clears her throat. Moves. A creak of the bed as she sits down on it. "Helen, Auggie." Her voice is low. "That's the difference. You trusted her, didn't you? Went with your instincts. Head first. And look what she did to you." She draws in a ragged breath. "And then, even after you knew what she was capable of, you still…" She falters. Doesn't finish. Doesn't need to.

She has him. He has no defense. The shame of that night, his lack of self-restraint, his betrayal of Annie, will allow no seeking of absolution.

He stands there. Exposed. Anger gone. Replaced by something else. Tears threaten. He pushes them down, humiliated by them. Swallows.

There's silence.

He's the one to break it.

"I never wanted you to know." He says it softly, not sure what it is. Not an apology. Not an excuse. Maybe, at last, a confession. "I didn't know she'd left the apartment in that state until I went over to the bed…" His voice has betrayed his emotion despite his earnest efforts to stop it.

"I'd guessed anyway, Auggie. Before that." She sounds resigned. Breathes out a deep sigh. "I saw you with her that night. I was on the bus with you."

The shock hits him in the gut. His world tilts on its axis.

"You were on the _bus_?" His throat has closed up. He has to swallow again so he can speak. "_Shit, _Annie. Why didn't you _say_ something?" It comes out strangled. Tears have welled up again. He's having difficulty dealing with implications of what she's saying. He shakes his head, furious with himself for his lack of ability to keep his emotions under control.

"I didn't know how to." She sounds distraught. "I was sitting right next to you. I thought you'd know it was me." There are tears in her voice too. "But you didn't. And then it had been too long…I just…couldn't."

"So you just sat there watching me?" Suddenly he is seething. "Jesus, Annie." He puts both hands up on his head. Tugs at his hair in exasperation. "How the fuck was I supposed to know you were there? I can't _see._" He's almost shouting now.

"You've done it before," she says. She's pleading. "You do it all the time."

"Yeah, when I'm expecting you to be around. When we're at Langley. Not on some bus in DC when you're not even supposed to be in the country. I don't have fucking superpowers."

Suddenly he's had enough. Can't do this anymore. Needs to get out.

He turns his back on her, grabbing for his cane. In his haste knocks it to the floor. It's the final indignity. Knowing she's watching him having to feel around on the floor for it. He finds it. Doesn't even attempt to unfold the thing. Just makes for the exit - rips the door open.

"Auggie." She's begging.

He leaves. Crashes the door closed behind him.

He slams his fist into the wall next to him - ten months of pent-up frustration crammed into one blow. Maybe even more. Maybe seven years.

And then he's done. He has nothing left.

He sags back against the door. Closes his eyes.

He is so very, very tired.


	16. Chapter 16

_A.N: __Some strong language. _

* * *

**Chapter 16**

_Tuesday June 24th, 2014_

_Otjindawa Lodge, Namibia_

He needs space.

Needs to get away.

From her.

From _here_.

Needs to figure out some way of scraping himself back together, getting his head straightened out.

What he really needs is somewhere isolated, far away from everything. Somewhere he can sit down, _feel._ And then think.

But he can't. If there are any such places he doesn't know about them. No one has told him. And he has no other way of knowing. No way to even start thinking about how to search one out. The self-pity creeps up his throat again. He forces it down. Has to pinch hard between his eyes to stop the tears. Again.

_For shit's sake. Pull it together, Anderson._

Frustrated with himself, with the whole sickening situation, he snaps out his cane. He may not be able to find somewhere to sit, but he can try and walk this off.

His feet take him, almost automatically, to the now-familiar foot path. He feels like his mind is shutting itself off. Whether it's some sort of subconscious self-preservation instinct or merely emotional exhaustion he can't tell. He doesn't care. All he knows is that the rhythm of his footsteps and the swings of his cane are having a much needed hypnotic effect

Right now the respite from the turmoil is welcome.

He reaches the path's end – where it opens out into the parking lot. His cane connects with one of Michael's posts.

His brain re-engages.

The swimming pool enclosure. If this is the parking area for the pool there must be a gate for it here. And the chances of anyone being there on a winter's night are slim.

He may just be able to find somewhere he can sit undisturbed after all.

Where he can breathe.

Try to recover.

He walks. Finds his stone wall. Tracks it right instead of left. Discovers it butts up against some sort of fence made up of what feels like driftwood - polished tree branches, maybe? Smooth, not rough. The fence around the swimming pool area. (Or so he hopes).

He finds a gate. Latched but not locked.

Enters.

Stops.

Listens.

There's nothing but the peaceful ripples of night noise and every now and then a swell of laughter from the main complex. From those who, unlike him and Annie, had lingered after their meal.

He debates with himself a little, but does, in the end, call out a tentative "Hello." Lack of any response causes his gut to unclench a little.

He's found his safe place.

His feet are on a paved path. He follows it for a way. There's grass on the right. He takes a chance – turns onto the grass, surmising it lies between path and pool. Goes carefully.

The last thing he freaking needs now is an unplanned swim.

He doesn't find the pool. He connects, instead, with something else. It reveals itself, under his hands, to be a sun lounger. Wood, with some kind of padded canvas-covered cushion on it. He tracks the side of it and then sits down on its edge, cane propped up next to him.

Bending over – elbows on his knees, head down, hands locked together on the back of his head, he breathes, waiting for the expected emotions to rise. Ready to let them come.

They don't.

Some kind of peace flows over him instead – slowly loosens the tension in his belly. After a while he turns, folds up his cane and then stretches himself out along the length of the recliner, cane next to him, arms behind his head, face up to the stars.

Beads of thought finally start to run together, to form coherent patterns. He waits. Knowing he needs this. Needs to work through whatever it is that went on in there. Between him and Annie.

He has a job to do. And he needs to get himself straightened out so that he can do it.

His turns over their argument in his mind. His fury at her that she'd come for him. Her anger that he'd put himself at risk. His anger that she didn't trust his instincts. Her reason why.

His inability to explain that reason, even to himself.

And finally, that blow. The discovery that Annie had used his blindness to take advantage of him. The deep disillusionment. The sense of betrayal.

_Why did you react so strongly to that?_

The question bubbles up from some deep subconscious place.

_- Because it was unfair. I wanted to see her, talk to her. It was all I wanted. And she wouldn't allow it. But she came and sat there and watched me. Knowing I couldn't._

_People do that all the time. You know that. You generally laugh it off._

_- This is different._

_Why?_

_- Because it's Annie._

And suddenly there it is. Because it's Annie. Because Annie has always been the one person he could trust to get it right. To believe in him. To include him. She had, from her very first mission, pushed the boundaries when it came to him. Not his boundaries, but the boundaries imposed by people's expectations. People who saw him as a talented Tech Op, but not fit for field work anymore. The guy always behind the desk, on the other end of the phone, always support – even when not in the building.

Annie had dragged him out into the field with her, still unsure of her abilities, completely confident in his. She'd gotten herself in trouble for it more than once, because she needed him. Wanted him. As a _partner_.

And she'd changed the way he was looked at in the building.

She'd undone the universal notion that field work for him was completely unfeasible. That he naturally must have lost his skills, his instincts together with his sight.

Shown that was wrong.

Shown that even though it wasn't going to work in the same way as it had, that didn't mean it couldn't work.

Shown that he, Auggie Anderson, blind, with no superpowers, was still quite capable of going out into the field. Of getting results.

Joan Campbell would never in a month of Sundays have pulled him out from behind his desk if Annie Walker hadn't come along.

Barcelona comes back to haunt him again. Their fight. Him accusing her of overprotectiveness. The parallels between that clash and the one that had just happened.

Was it the same old story again? The same thing which had made him respond so viciously?

_- I don't need a babysitter._

_You don't._

But was that what she'd been doing this time?

He finds he has to pull back and look at his actions.

At her actions.

At the reasons for both.

If he's honest with himself, she had had just cause for concern. The evidence against Jaco had been mounting. How much of that had he chosen to disregard? To conveniently ignore? Just because he'd gotten to know Jaco.

And he _did_ know Jaco – had spent time with the man, had built a very good idea of what he was about.

But he'd shared almost none of it with her.

Yet he'd expected her to just take it on trust from him that Jaco was a good guy. Even though, as Annie had pointed out to him, his track record on that score, although good, was not perfect.

Had she over-reacted?

Without a doubt.

But was there a reason for it?

Maybe.

_You, of all people, should know how quickly anxiety can spiral into panic when you're still recovering from trauma._

Auggie remembers the early anxiety attacks after he had come home from Iraq. The anxiety that one could calm. And the anxiety that spiraled out of control. Caused one to act without thinking things through.

He realizes that he's been far more focused on himself than he should have been. He'd _known_ Annie was fragile. That she was still dealing with after-effects of events stretching much further back than Henry Wilcox.

And yet he'd withheld things from her.

Things that might have given her the perspective she needed to calm her anxiety.

He'd been self-absorbed.

And he hadn't wanted to discuss Jaco with her.

_Why is that?_

An answer surfaces.

_ - Because of the way Jaco treats me._

Is it as simple as that?

And if it is, what does that say about Annie's accusations regarding his instincts?

_Is_ he swayed so much by how people behave around him? He contemplates the friends he's made over the years. How many pre-Iraq friends has he kept in touch with? A handful: Dan, Kip, Tyler…All people who'd taken his blindness in their stride. (And come to think of it, one of those he'd also trusted to his detriment).

How much of his belief in Jaco's innocence stems purely from the man's matter-of-fact approach to him? Not avoidance, not embarrassment, not over-compensation. Just pragmatic acceptance, adaptation and integration.

_ - Not all._

_Honestly?_

_ - Honestly._

In Jaco's case there _is _more – his passion for his work, his belief in what he does. Strong supporting evidence.

But there is also an almost subconscious something inside him that _wants_ the man to be innocent.

And that affects his objectivity.

And therefore the way he does his job.

The realization feels important. _If I know about it I can deal with it._

He pursues the thought and its implications further – aware that he's heading into potentially deep waters. But also aware that he has to if he's going to move forward.

How much of his trust in Annie depends on her always 'getting it right' when it comes to him?

Why does he feel so betrayed by her right now?

_Because she's fallen off that pretty pedestal you put her on. Was it fair to put her up there in the first place? To leave her no room for mistakes? Because that's what this was, Anderson. A mistake. An unintentional mistake. She just didn't think. That's all._

_And God knows you've done worse to her._

He can't go there yet.

_You have to go there sometime._

_- I know. I just don't want to._

Getting off that bus. Helen. So awkward in her apartment. So tentative around him. So freaked out by his blindness. All he'd wanted was to stop that. To make her see he was OK. To go back to a time when things were easy.

_To go back._

Shit. Was that it? Was that why he'd let it happen?

_- No! I want to move forward. I always have. I said as much in Barcelona. I meant it then. I still do._

He does.

But deep down there's always a small part of him that grieves what he lost. That wishes he could go back.

'Every step forward begins with a firmly planted foot in the past.' But sometimes that foot doesn't want to leave. Wants to stay there.

He remembers someone telling him, in the early days after his injury: "Acceptance isn't a linear process. You face something new, you find yourself circling all the way round again."

It's true.

He'll just start thinking he's gotten there and something or someone will come along and he'll be back in the maelstrom again.

Natasha. Dr Kessell, Parker. Annie.

Why does it have to be so _hard_?

_It just is, Anderson. Facts on the ground. You've just gotta deal with it._

Something else trickles through.

Annie riding into the rescue. People at dinner making patronizing remarks. Rising fury.

Resentment that he has to prove himself to everyone.

That he's not able to just do his job, live his life without everything being scrutinized. Evaluated. Commented on.

_- It's not just my own acceptance I have to fight for over and over again._

_No. It's not._

_- It's exhausting. Constantly having to show everyone I'm OK. I'm together. I'm competent._

_It is. But you do it anyway._

There's something else there, too. Deep down.

He goes in after it.

_- I feel I have to prove myself to myself, sometimes. I go on missions like this one desperate to pull them off. Not just to show _them_ I can. To show _me_ I can._

Self-doubt?

Wow. He hadn't even realized that was in there.

His thoughts turn to the situation at hand.

_- Am I doubting myself on this mission? Is that why I'm being so sensitive? Defensive?_

He knows the answer to that. Affirmative.

_Why?_

He's figuring out the answer to that too.

_- Jaco. I worry that Annie might be right. That I've gotten too close_.

_Have you?_

These two days with Jaco have been so easy. Not having to prove himself; having his capability assumed, taken for granted. It's…rare. Exhilarating.

Then this afternoon it had all come crashing down. And he'd been plunged right back into the icy waters of reality.

Miserable. Painful.

_But overpowering?_

Maybe not.

For now it all comes down to this:

_Do you, right now, all these things considered, still trust your instincts on this? Can you, Auggie Anderson, blind, with no superpowers, complete this mission? Can you do this job?_

The answer wells up - immediate, unimpeded, clear as crystal.

_- Yes._

_Yes, I can._

* * *

He arrives back at their room close to midnight. Opens the door carefully. It's dead quiet. There's no greeting, no acknowledgment of his arrival. He checks the light-switch by the door – it's up. Main light is off. He makes his way over to the bathroom. Checks that light. Also off.

Is she out? Asleep? Pretending to be asleep? It would be nice to know, but he's not going to call to find out. It wouldn't really make any practical difference. He leaves it.

He gets ready for bed quietly, not wanting to wake her if she _is _there and asleep.

Climbs in under the covers.

Wonders if he may, actually, finally get some sleep.

From the bed next to his comes a soft sigh and the sound of Annie turning over in her sleep.

_She is here_.

Within minutes he's unconscious.

* * *

_Tuesday June 24th, 2014_

_Fairfax, Virginia_

McKenzie Campbell, aka 'The Tyrant' falls asleep at a reasonable hour for once. His parents waste no time in seizing the opportunity to eat together for a change. Properly. Like adults.

Joan Campbell even brings out candles.

It's a rare luxury these days and so very appreciated.

But towards the end of it, Arthur Campbell's cell phone rings. Or rather, _not _Arthur's cell phone. The ringtone is wrong.

Joan looks at him, surprised.

He doesn't comment. Just stands up, pulls an old, battered phone out of his pocket, holds up his hand in apology and walks away - closing himself into his office.

Twelve minutes later he emerges.

"That was…unusual," Joan says, quirking an eyebrow. "I wasn't aware you were still doing real spy things."

"Oh, you know how it is," he says dismissively. "Once a spy, always a spy…" He's pauses on purpose. Sits back down at the table, taking his time, winding her up. Enjoying himself. He waits for the question.

It comes. "Anything I should know about?" The curiosity is killing her.

He relents.

"Yes, as a matter of fact." He is looking at her soberly now. "This is definitely something you need to know about."

He lays it all out for her.

She takes it in – thoughtful, analytical.

"This changes things for Auggie and Annie", she says contemplatively.

"Yes. It does" he agrees.

"Should we call them now?" She stops and does a quick calculation. "They're five hours ahead. It's one thirty in the morning there."

"Let them sleep, Joan," Arthur advises. "The Tyrant will more than likely have us awake at two or three in the morning. We can call them then."

His wife gives him a little look. "Anything in particular you were thinking of doing between now and then?" she asks. Innocently.

"Sleeping." he responds promptly. He twitches one eyebrow. "Of course, if you have any other suggestions…"

* * *

_Wednesday June 25th, 2014_

_Otjindawa Lodge, Namibia._

Annie crawls into Auggie's bed sometime in the early hours of the morning.

He says nothing, momentarily stunned and wondering vaguely if he's dreaming.

She says nothing either. Just lies curled up behind him as if seeking warmth. Close, but not quite touching.

He can feel her breath against the back of his neck.

He turns, rolling over onto his back, and gently reaches for her, pulling her in towards him.

"Annie?"

He wonders if it's a question or a prayer.

She responds by moving to lie against him, resting her head on his chest. He curls an arm lightly around her. Brushes his fingertips over her shoulder.

They stay for a while just like that. Quiet. Breathing together.

And then she speaks. Softly.

"Are you OK?"

No accusations. No apologies. No requests for apologies. Just "Are you OK?"

He smiles into her hair. She's wonderful, his Annie – both on and off her pedestal.

"Yeah." He murmurs it into her hair. Presses a kiss gently onto the top her head.

He is OK.

He really is.

He holds her – relishing the feel of her lying so relaxed against him. He's still filled with something of a sense of wonder. She's so still, so quiet, that he wonders if she's drifted off back to sleep.

But she moves.

"Auggie?"

It's a question.

And she gives him the answer.

She rolls over, sits up on her knees next to him, leans over him, takes his face in her hands and kisses him.

* * *

Their coming together is exquisitely, soul-rendingly slow. A tracing of fingers along edges. Remembered, yearned-for outlines.

She unfurls like a flower – one perfect petal at a time.

He is left ruptured open – little remnants of him float, as though drifting away in the wind. He isn't willing to start gathering them back just yet.

She curls up and tucks herself against him - her back against his side.

He lies on his back for a while, reveling in the feel of her skin against his.

He falls asleep with his fingers tangled loosely in her hair.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

_Wednesday June 25th__, 2014_

_Otjindawa Lodge, Namibia._

Ringing. _Loud_ ringing.

Voice Over intoning "Joan Campbell Mobile".

Auggie Anderson goes from groggy to galvanized in seconds. He rolls over - with one hand trying to locate his phone on the nightstand, while at the same time frantically grabbing for the covers Annie has stolen from him with the other. He pulls them hastily over himself.

"Joan?" He's gratified to hear that any potentially lingering drowsiness has cleared from his voice.

"Auggie. Glad you're awake." Joan is all business. "Sorry I've called so early but something's come up and we need to talk with you and Annie."

"Uh-huh?" Auggie asks inarticulately. His voice may be awake but his brain hasn't quite caught up yet.

"We've run across something which may be critical to your mission. It's going to change things, so we need to discuss this with both of you. Is Annie around? Can we conference?"

"She's still asleep." As he says it realizes she isn't. She's sniggering next to him and tugging the covers back. He swats at her hand. Connects. Grins at her - pleased with his impeccable aim. "Lemme wake her up and we'll call you right back. Five minutes?"

"Perfect." Joan disconnects.

He replaces his phone on the nightstand. Annie erupts into peals of laughter.

"What?" he demands. Tries to frown at her, but he can feel his traitorous mouth curving into an involuntary grin, even though he has no idea what she's finding so funny. Hilarity is so damn contagious.

"You," she says. "The minute your phone said 'Joan Campbell'…" She bursts into giggles again.

"What?" he asks again, feeling a little exasperated.

"You were like a sixteen-year-old being caught _in flagrante delicto_ by his mother. You pulled up that duvet so fast."

He gives her an unamused look. "Har." He's only half feigning offense. Then he stops. Reflects. Squints his eyes at her. "So you were awake?"

"Yep." She's unabashed.

"Watching me without me knowing it again, Walker?" But he's teasing her.

"I was taking advantage of your _unconsciousness_." She's affecting indignation. His lips quirk.

"Still unfair," he tells her. "I'm going to have to pay you back for that." He reaches for her shoulders, rolls her over onto her back, pins her down and proceeds to nuzzle her neck.

She pushes him away. "Auggie," she says, "aren't we supposed to be calling Joan?"

He sighs heavily. Sits back up. Starts reaching for his phone.

"You should probably put some pants on, you know," she advises him.

He finds his pillow and throws it at her.

* * *

They call Joan back, sitting together at Auggie's makeshift workstation set up on the table near the door. Auggie puts Joan on speaker.

"Arthur's here too," Joan tells them. "I'm going to let him give you the run-down on this."

_Interesting,_ Auggie thinks. "Yeah, fine. We're listening," he says.

"Auggie. Annie." Arthur gets the formalities out of the way. Doesn't even wait for a response, just cuts to the chase. "Here's what's happening. Remember I told you Theresa Hamilton…uh..._Helen…_" - at least the man has the decency to sound a little chagrined about his slip-up - "…was working counter-proliferation for me? Getting detailed intel on arms trade routes, arms dealers and so on?" He pauses.

_I remember. _Hard not to. Auggie had punched the former DCS in the face only minutes before discovering that particular gem. It isn't a conversation he is ever likely to forget. He doesn't respond, though, just waits for Arthur to continue.

"She wasn't the only person I had working off-book for me on that side of things," Arthur goes on. "I've still got a couple of people out there..."

Joan has remained very quiet. Auggie wonders exactly how much Arthur has been keeping his successor informed on all of this. As if relationships weren't complicated enough as it is…He pulls his thoughts back sharply. Really doesn't want to go there right now.

Arthur is still speaking. "When Joan consulted me on this mission of yours it triggered something in my mind - a possible connection to something else I'd heard. so I asked one of my guys in Africa to look into it for me. He has. Got back to me last night. And confirmed what I'd picked up."

"Which was?" Arthur has Auggie's full attention now.

"Timing," Arthur replies. "Interesting timing. There's been a lot of concern regarding Al Shabaab after the Westgate Mall attack. Rumors of them planning some other big attack. They control a port town called Baraawe, south of Mogadishu, and we're pretty sure they've been trafficking arms and so on in and out of there." He stops to take a breath.

"Is this the same place where the SEAL Team six raid happened last year?" Auggie asks. "The one where they were forced to retreat?" Bells are starting to ring in his head.

"Yes," Arthur confirms. "Same town. The team went in to try and apprehend Abdulkadir Mohamed Abdulkadir, but had to abort the mission when they realized that the house where he was hiding had been packed with women and children. Risk of civilian casualties was too high."

Annie interjects. "This is the ex-Al Qaeda guy with links to the Embassy bombings and Mombasa attacks?"

Joan confirms it. "One and the same."

Arthur re-takes the floor. "What we're concerned about right now is that they may be planning some kind of retaliatory attack. Payback for the raid last October. So there's been a lot of attention focused on this guy. The phone call in Kenya that led to you two being where you are right now was as a direct result of that focus."

"You think these last few rhino horn orders might've been about funding some sort of attack on a US target?" Auggie can feel adrenalin beginning to course through his system. The more he hears, the more this 'little' mission of theirs is starting to have the feel of something a lot more significant.

Joan weighs in. "The timing is very suspicious. We've been picking up increased chatter, activity recently. That's why I didn't want to wait around on this - why I pulled you two in – so we could move more quickly."

"And there's something else," Arthur sounds grave. "Something Joan didn't know about. Something my guy gave us last night."

"What?" Auggie leans forward, his whole focus on Arthur, on what he's about to say - despite his now increased contact with Annie.

"He's gotten word of a small shipment of missile launchers and missiles. Coming in to East Africa. From somewhere in Europe."

From next to him comes the sound of Annie drawing in a breath sharply. "The missing missiles?" she asks incredulously. "The ones Henry Wilcox stole?"

Arthur's response is deliberately cautious. "We don't know, Annie. But yes. Maybe."

Everyone is silent for a moment. There is so much history suddenly lying unspoken between all of them - Teo Braga, Arthur's dead son, an integral part of it. As is the link between those missile launchers and Teo's death.

Annie speaks first. "And we think they might be heading into the hands of Al Shabaab?" she asks. She's quiet but there's something else in her voice. Something steely. It worries Auggie. If this does tie back to Henry Wilcox in some way he knows that's going to fire her up. And he's not sure she's ready for that yet.

"Yes. We're concerned they may try something again in Kenya. The missile launchers could indicate they're thinking about another airline attack."

"Have we got a time-frame?" Auggie is starting to realize the reason for the early hour of the call.

"That's why we've called you." It's Joan who answers him. "A week to ten days until the missiles come in. They're going to have to have the funds by then. If all these threads _are_ connected we're going to be seeing multiple M99 poaching events within the next few days."

"Wow." Auggie sits back. Runs a hand over his hair. "OK. So we're pretty much out of time here?"

"I'm afraid so," Joan confirms. "You're going to have to try an approach today, we think. How feasible is that for you?"

Neither he nor Annie responds, initially.

"Auggie?" Joan prompts.

He leans forward, hand on the table next to his phone. "We'll make it happen, Joan."

* * *

He makes coffee while she's in the shower. Waits for her on the deck once it's brewed – sipping slowly from the mug cradled in his hands and mulling over the implications of what they've just heard.

She emerges and joins him. Pours herself a coffee. Sits down next to him with a sigh.

Auggie can't help but feel just a little relieved that the circumstances of the last hour have given them a way to bypass the traditional 'morning after' conversation. He honestly has no idea how to process the events of the last few days. He finds himself grateful for the reprieve. It's a conversation he wants to have, that they _need_ to have, but that makes it even more important they get it right. A delay – some extra time to sort things out in his head – feels like a good thing. For a little while anyway.

Annie seems to have the same opinion because the first thing she says to him once she's settled herself is: "So. What's our game plan?"

* * *

A fairly direct approach seems their best option. They really aren't going to have any other way to go about things given their shrunken time frame.

"I'll find a way to do a first approach this morning," Auggie tells her. "Give him just enough to persuade him to come here and talk with us after lunch. We can make a full approach once we have him here."

"Do we read him in, though?" Annie poses the question.

Auggie has thought long and hard about that. "I think we should try and avoid that," he tells her. "Thought maybe we could tell him we're investigative journalists? Keep our Owen Garrett and Laura Pritchard covers but expand them a little?"

"Hmm…" She mulls that over. "Could work well, actually. Might be a little tricky to explain how we got some of the intel we have on him, though."

"Yeah, I know," Auggie concedes, "but I think we could work around most of it. The crucial stuff anyway. What could we realistically have had access to, d'you reckon?"

"The police reports – the M99 _and _his wife," she says without hesitation. "We, as journalists, could have found a police source in Joburg."

"Yeah," Auggie agrees. "Maybe his credit score rating, too? I can access that right now. Might give us at least enough to tell him we know he's in financial shit."

"Think it'll be enough?"

Auggie leans back in his seat, stretching. "If not we can always admit to being the kind of unethical investigative journalists who bug and search rooms." He winks at her. He locks his fingers together behind his head. Sobers a little. "That would give us blackmail leverage, if nothing else works." He stops, lost in thought for a brief moment. "I really don't think we're gonna need to go there, though. Not if I'm reading Jaco right. Moral pressure will probably do the trick." He slaps his palms down onto his thighs. "But," he says, sitting up, "if we do have to move on to monetary incentives we've got up to fifty thousand US from Joan…And we've got threats as a last resort."

"Sounds good to me." Annie's smiling. He can tell. Charged up.

She stands up. Gives his shoulder an enthusiastic pat.

"Let's go get him, Owen Garrett," she says.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

_Wednesday June 25__th__, 2014_

_Otjindawa Lodge, Namibia_

The last two cheetahs for the day are located in two separate camps. This means Jaco knocks down the first cat and dispatches it the clinic with Team Two before their team moves on to fetch the second cheetah.

Auggie has the window he needs.

He and Jaco walk towards the camp where the second cheetah is – no Michael, no Paul-the-Brit this time. Just the two of them.

While waiting in the road for Jaco, who has left him in order to go on and dart the cheetah, Auggie mulls over his options. From the time the vet returns to fetch him he will have between five and ten minutes until the cat is down and they call in the vehicle.

_Short, simple, straightforward._

His gut tells him that will be enough.

"Good clean shoulder shot." Jaco has returned. "She'll go down quickly." He sounds pleased. He offers Auggie a lead in his typically understated, pragmatic way.

They walk.

Auggie issues the request as simply as he can: "Jaco, if you're not busy this afternoon there's something Laura and I'd like to talk to you about."

The vet's response is equally uncomplicated. "Sure. That shouldn't be a problem. I need to meet with Michael and Holly straight after lunch to discuss an order for clinic supplies, but after that I'm available. Where would you like to meet?"

"You wanna to come over to our place?" Auggie is still waiting for the '_What is this about_?' question.

It doesn't come.

"All right. I can come across as soon as I've finished with Michael and Holly."

That's it. No hesitation. No indication of suspicion. Or at least none that Auggie can pick up.

He can't decide if the man is very, very innocent or very, very clever.

He knows which it is he _wants_ to believe.

Even with all the evidence to the contrary.

* * *

From the time they return to their room after lunch until Jaco arrives Auggie has them on the go. They refresh their cover stories, adding to them as feasibly and realistically as they can to support their investigative journalisms claims. They go through the websites Jaco has looked at, making sure the details hold up. They skim through other websites mentioning Owen Garrett and Laura Pritchard ensuring they have all their bases covered.

Auggie will take point. Annie will follow his lead.

They pack away Auggie's workstation, leaving the table near the front door clear, apart from the Otjindawa information folder and Auggie's cane.

By the time Jaco knocks on the doorframe of the open doorway and calls out a greeting they are in the kitchen area – Auggie leaning back against the counter chatting to Annie who has her back to the door as she waits for the kettle to boil.

"Hey, Jaco." She watches Auggie straighten up. Watches as he gives the man one of his quintessential _Auggie _smiles – one of those that start at the corners of his eyes and work their way progressively down to the corners of his mouth. "Thanks for coming over. Michael and Holly all done with you?"

"They are." The vet is leaning against the doorframe, smiling in response, looking more relaxed than Annie has seen him. "I'm all yours."

Auggie's crinkly-cornered smile develops into a genuine grin. "Great," he says. "In that case, what can we offer you to drink? Laura's making tea. I'm in charge of the mini-bar."

"An Appletiser maybe? If you have one?"

Auggie opens the small under-counter refrigerator. "I have absolutely no idea, actually," he informs Jaco. "I only know the important ones."

"Which means beer, beer and beer," Annie chimes in. She leans over to peer into the open refrigerator. "Appletiser's third from the left, second shelf down," she informs Auggie, who reaches in and locates the bottle of sparkling apple juice for Jaco. He grabs a beer for himself.

She watches him twist off the screw cap for Jaco. "Glass?" he asks the man.

"No. No need." Jaco waves the offer off.

Auggie locates the bottle opener kept in the little utensils tray on top of the microwave and pops the cap off his beer. She finds herself thinking about the bottle-opener she keeps in her purse. He'd given it to her, the day after she'd moved into her first safe house. She'd left it behind when she'd gone dark, but it was one of only two things she'd reclaimed from that house when she'd come back – the other had been a frying pan from her sister. He has no idea it's there.

"OK if we sit outside?" Auggie asks Jaco, walking towards him and extending his drink out to him. Jaco takes it and the two men make their way onto the deck and the two chairs - still where she and Auggie had left them this morning, pulled away from the table because Annie had wanted to sit in the sun.

Annie pours water over the teabag in her mug and, leaving her tea to steep, carries a chair outside for herself. The minute Jaco sees what she's doing he leaps up to assist. She waves him away. "I'm fine," she tells him, sending him a smile. She dumps the chair down near Auggie's to complete a little semi-circle overlooking the plains. Goes back inside to retrieve her tea.

When she re-emerges there is a little family of warthogs at the waterhole. She sits down, sipping her tea and watching them, captivated as always by their antics.

"Laura got real quiet," Auggie comments to Jaco. "Are there warthogs around somewhere? She's easily distracted by warthogs."

Annie harrumphs at him and sticks out her tongue. And then has to tell him she did, because otherwise it's a wasted effort. He reciprocates.

Jaco watches the two of them, a smile on his face, but something else in his eyes – longing, maybe. Sadness.

"Michelle - my wife - loved warthogs, too," he tells her. "She never got bored of them. It didn't seem to matter how many she'd seen. She said they were so ridiculous someone had to take them seriously." Jaco's rare smile has reached all the way up into his eyes and into his voice. For the first time Annie has a real glimpse of what it is Auggie sees in him.

Annie laughs. "I think that's exactly what I like about them, too," she confesses, "although I probably wouldn't have realized it unless you'd told me that." She sobers, watching Jaco. He glances back up and makes eye-contact with her. His expression is soft. Vulnerable.

She feels a stab of guilt – so very aware of what she and Auggie are about to do to him.

"I'd have liked to have met her," she tells him, softly. Meaning it.

"She'd have liked you," Jaco responds. "You remind me of her a little, actually. She made people around her happy just by being there."

He is perfectly sincere. She is touched.

Auggie has turned to smile at her. Holds out his hand to her. She gives him hers. "Yeah, that's Laura too," he says, lacing his fingers through hers.

They lapse into an easy silence for a little while – each seemingly content to remain in the moment.

But Auggie has to break it, though she strongly suspects he wishes he didn't.

He squeezes her hand and lets her go, putting his beer bottle down on the floor beside his chair. Annie watches him lean forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together. He briefly lowers his head, forehead pressing against clasped hands, but then he looks up towards Jaco, allowing his hands to drop down between his knees.

The time has come.

"Jaco, Laura and I stumbled across something we think you need to know about – something that could mean trouble for you when you go back to South Africa." It's said quietly, sympathetically, but firmly. "That's why we asked you here this afternoon."

Annie watches Jaco carefully. His full attention is on Auggie but his expression is hard to read. He doesn't respond. Waits instead for Auggie to continue.

Auggie does. "I'm gonna start by telling you something about Laura and me. Something you need to know so you can understand how we got ahold of this." He pauses briefly, facing forward now as if looking out over the plain in front of them. Jaco's expression has shifted slightly – eyes narrowing a little. Wary. He still says nothing, though.

Auggie blows out a breath. "We're investigative journalists, Jaco, and we've been working on another story while we're down here, too."

Jaco's eyes have widened. "You're _investigative_ journalists?" Finally he has something to say. His surprise seems genuine. "I never found anything about that when I looked you up…" He suddenly seems to realize what he's admitted. Reddens. "I'm sorry," he says. "I wasn't spying on you. I just wanted to see what kind of work you were doing. Read some of your articles. You made an impression on me. I was curious…" He tails off.

Auggie has picked up on Jaco's embarrassment. He turns to face him. "In our job," he says, "we _do_ spy. I'm not gonna kick up a fuss about someone looking me up out of interest." He gives the man a reassuring smile. "You wouldn't have picked up anything under 'Owen Garrett', though. We don't publish those articles under our names. Problem with me being blind is that it's pretty hard to stay under the radar. If we made it public that it was ablind guy producing the exposés…well, let's just say I'm conspicuous enough that it would end my career. That part of it at least. It's also why we tend to work on innocuous stories at the same time."

Jaco's nodding thoughtfully. "I can imagine," he says. "But doesn't it work both ways? How often do you get to ask questions others can't because people underestimate you? Think you're 'safe'?"

"Well, there you go. Nail on the head," says Auggie, sitting back, crinkling his eyes at the man appreciatively. "Blindness makes for great cover. Getting to use people's preconceived ideas against them? Misdirection without even trying." His expression broadens into a genuine smile. "Doesn't work with everyone, though." It's so obviously aimed at Jaco, but the man doesn't even smile. Watches Auggie with solemn eyes instead.

Jaco bends forward to put his own empty bottle down. Sits back up. Asks: "So what _is_ this other story you're working on? What particular aspect of the disaster that is my life did you uncover? There are so very many possibilities. Believe me." There is marked bitterness in his voice. Annie finds it jarring. She hasn't seen anything but Jaco's 'together' side up until now. He is clenching his jaw – seems to be trying to get his emotions back under control.

She is moved to ask him gently "Jaco, what's going on?"

He doesn't answer. Glances over at her. Meets her eyes briefly, looking stricken. Then he bends over – head in his hands, breathing out audibly as if trying to regain his composure.

Auggie has picked up on the man's distress. He leans forward again, face turned towards him, concern written all over his face.

"Jaco?" he prompts quietly.

Jaco looks up at him. His eyes are filled with tears. He swallows.

"I don't even know where to start," he says.


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

_Wednesday June 25__th__, 2014_

_Otjindawa Lodge, Namibia_

There are some people who don't need to be manipulated into turning.

People who out of desperation have ended up in places they see no way out of.

People who just need to be given the opportunity to turn themselves.

Everything Annie has seen tells her that they're about to witness Jaco Bouwer do exactly that.

And Auggie is masterfully facilitating that conversion – with empathy, sensitivity and consummate skill.

He has a slight smile crinkling the corners of his eyes as he addresses the vet. "I know this is a cliché," he says, "but I've found starting at the beginning generally works pretty well."

Jaco huffs out something like a laugh. Looks gratefully at Auggie - probably because of his subtle way of breaking the tension. Draws in a ragged breath and releases it as a long sigh.

"How far back do I go?" he asks.

"Go back to a time when there was no mess," Auggie advises simply, "and take it forward from there."

"It feels like there's always been mess." Jaco is shaking his head slowly. "Ever since Michelle and I started getting serious, anyway."

"So start there." Auggie's attitude is one of absolute focus on the man – elbows on thighs, chin on hand, finger thoughtfully to his lips. Waiting.

Jaco sighs deeply and then begins - the words initially hesitant, but gaining momentum. It seems he's needed the permission, the _space,_ to do this, and now he has it he's not sure how to handle it.

He addresses Auggie. Annie has accepted that her role in this scenario, initially at least, is as observer only. Realizes that the trust Auggie has fostered in Jaco is the key reason this exchange is happening the way it is. And so she stands back - to do otherwise will be to risk disrupting the process.

"We studied together in Pretoria," he says. "We got to know each other well and things moved on from there." He quirks up a corner of his mouth. "I think we must have been the most unlikely couple ever in the history of the Veterinary faculty. She was a rich city girl from an elite family, I was a farmer's son. She drove an MG convertible, I drove a bakkie. She wore designer jeans, I wore khaki. A _lot_ of khaki." He smiles to himself as if remembering a private joke. He probably is. "But she loved me. It took her a lot of effort to persuade me that she really meant it. But she did." He looks up at Annie then, for the first time since he'd begun. His eyes are soft. He holds her gaze for a moment.

He continues: "When we started talking about getting married though...that's when the problems really started." His eyes are back on Auggie. "You have to understand her family. Money, status, standing in society is everything to them. Her father's ideas of how things should be are law." He pauses. "They refused to fund her studies because she wanted to become a vet and they didn't feel that was appropriate. She had to use money from a trust fund from her grandfather and take out a student loan. She hated to hurt them – hurt her _mother_ - but she stood her ground. Her father threatened her with disinheritance, with cutting her off."

Auggie's eyebrows go up at that.

Jaco nods slightly. "I know", he says, acknowledging Auggie's expression. "And it was a serious threat – he did it to her older brother. Jean-Paul came out as gay a few years before Michelle and I met. Their father told him he was dead to them. Kicked him out. Threatened Michelle and her younger brother with the same if they ever made contact with him..."

Auggie sits up. "Shit," he says. "That's extreme."

"Ja. But that's what her father's like. Hard." Jaco's expression is grim. "It was devastating for Michelle. But she was angry too. Angry at what it did to her mother. I think she made a vow to herself then already that she would not be manipulated by him. That's why she held out when it came to her studies. And why she married me." He smiles a little.

"He hated it, hated me, but didn't go as far as he had with Jean-Paul. Their friends might look down their noses at me, but at least I was white, professional, straight and Afrikaans."

"Nice." Auggie is shaking his head - mouth pulled into a straight line, looking disgusted. Annie is feeling the same way.

Jaco is gaining momentum now. "We spent as little time with her parents as was polite. Her younger brother though...he's OK. We saw him a lot - I still do. We gave his girlfriend a job in our practice when we opened it…"

Auggie interjects: "So you opened a practice together?"

"Yes. We both worked for a few years in other practices first, gained experience, paid off our student loans. But her dream was that we'd open a practice of our own in Joburg. She wanted to build a first-class small animal veterinary hospital over time, and provide me with a base for my wildlife work.

"That's what we started. We borrowed money, we worked hard, she used her grandfather's trust fund, and we made it happen. We were really starting to get there..." He stops. Takes a deep breath.

Auggie seems to have intuited what comes next. "And then she died?" he asks quietly.

"And then she died," Jaco confirms. "And I went to pieces…"

His emotions have welled up again. He chokes off. Looks anguished. Tries to speak. Fails.

"Hey," says Auggie. Soothing. "It's OK. Take your time."

Jaco stands up and moves to the deck railing. Leans forward against it as if for support, drinking in the arid bush in front of him. Auggie tracks his movements, a frown of concern creasing his brow. Annie watches him, struck yet again by the obvious rapport between the two men.

After a while Jaco turns back around, emotions somewhat back under control. "I let her down." He blows out a breath. "I couldn't deal with anything that reminded me of her. I moved out of our house into the flat at the practice. I neglected the practice – our work – her dream. I couldn't face it. I just let everything slide. And by the time I had pulled myself together we were in big trouble – the business was on the brink of bankruptcy, the bank was threatening to repossess the property.

"She'd only taken out a small life insurance policy and that had been used up. She had quite a bit of inherited money and property that was to pass on to me if she died, but her estate was taking time to be wound up. I did what I could to try and help us keep going, at least till that money came in. I took on a great new vet who started pulling back Michelle's clients. And I began to find work again on the wildlife side, and we looked like we'd be able to claw our way back..." He stops. His face changes. Hardens. "And then I was given notice that her father was going to contest her will."

There's a shift in the mood. From pain to outrage. "She'd left everything to me but there'd been a previous will, made when she'd inherited from her grandfather, and he claimed that her new will hadn't revoked the previous will. So they took me to court. It dragged through the courts for almost two years – and all that time the money that could have been helping keeping the things she cared so much about alive was tied up in her estate. And I've been going backwards trying to fight it – lawyers' fees, keeping creditors at bay…" He's looking at Annie as much as Auggie – the story's for both of them now.

She feels the permission to ask "And where are you now?"

Auggie swings his head around to face her, a slightly surprised smile around his mouth as if to say 'So you've joined us, Walker.'

Jaco responds. "In theory we're good. He took the case all the way up but six weeks ago it ended. We won. With costs."

Auggie has picked up on that. "In theory?," he quotes, turning it into a question.

Jaco sighs heavily. "Bloody lawyers." He looks at Annie. "Excuse my French," he apologizes. Annie waves it off, smiling inwardly at the unfailing good manners so very characteristic of him. "I have been fighting with them to release the money to me since that time. It's been in their account for over a month, but they didn't want to send it to me because the money for costs hadn't come through to them. I have had to fight with them every day – I even threatened to sue them for it – but finally I'm getting there." He smiles properly for the first time in their conversation. "I got the first payment into my account yesterday."

Realization is dawning on Annie. _The first phone-call Auggie and I listened to - that was Jaco to his lawyers._ She looks over at Auggie to try and read from his expression whether he's thinking the same. _Damn it, eye contact would be useful right now. _She buries the tiny spark of frustration. _Not important in the big picture, Annie._

"So, not a mess anymore, then." Auggie states, stretching back in his chair. Sits back up again. "That's great, Jaco." He says it with utter sincerity. But he doesn't leave it there. "It's not the only mess, though." He lays it out there baldly. A flat statement. He's not wasting time.

Jaco looks at him appraisingly. "You found out about Michelle?" He is nodding to himself. "It was either the money or that," he muses, "although I can't figure out what story you'd be working on that would cause you to come across anything about either." It's framed as a statement, but really it's a question.

He looks at Auggie first, but when Auggie doesn't respond he looks at her. "We're doing a story on rhino poaching," she tells him, watching him very carefully, wondering where this will lead. "We managed to get ahold of some police reports."

Jaco holds her gaze for a long while without saying anything. Out of the corner of her eye she sees Auggie lean forward again. Then Jaco speaks. "So you know they found one of Michelle's killers." He pushes away from the railing and takes his seat again. Bends forward. Runs one hand over his hair and then looks up. Neither she nor Auggie say anything. It seems Auggie's instincts are aligned with hers: _Give the man space._

"It was a good thing for me," Jaco says, "when they told me. It brought me some kind of closure. The man was dead. There was some sort of justice in that." He meets her eye. Swallows. "And somehow, finally, I had the courage to do what I'd not been able to do until then – to go back to our house and pack up her things."

Auggie has sat back and folded his arms. He is frowning – a shrewd look on his face. "You found something there," he says.

Jaco looks at him sharply. He seems surprised. "Yes," he confirms. "How do you know?" He stops. "Wait," he says. "Have you been talking to Julian Willemse?" He pronounces it with a 'V' – the Dutch way. He's frowning.

"It was just a guess," Auggie responds. Explains: "You said there was a mess. Didn't sound messy enough to me."

Jaco nods. That seems to work for him. "Yes. I found some things. Some things that made me wonder if someone had been blackmailing, or trying to blackmail, Michelle. She'd locked them in a drawer in her desk."

"What things?"

"Photos. Photos of her and Jean-Paul, the older brother I told you about, together. Black and white, telephoto lens pictures - the kind you see on TV in spy shows. They were taken less than a year before she died."

Auggie is piecing things together. "You think someone was threatening to show them to her father?"

"I can't think why else they'd be there. Not that kind of photo. They weren't holiday snapshots."

"Did _you_ know she'd seen him?" Annie interjects.

"Yes. She'd stayed in touch with him all along," Jaco tells them. "He lives in London now, but whenever he came back to South Africa they'd meet up."

"But you said she stood up to her father about her career. About your marriage. Why wouldn't she stand up to him about this? Why would it work as blackmail?" Annie can't work it out.

"Because he wouldn't bend on this one. Anyone who knew him would have known that. And if he'd cut her off too it would have destroyed her mother." The distress is back in Jaco's eyes.

Auggie has his head tilted to one side a little. He's looking thoughtful. "You're thinking there might be a connection between this and her death," he deduces. "Thinking it maybe wasn't a case of 'wrong place, wrong time'."

The vet is nodding. "I got hold of her bank statements and there were monthly payments of five thousand rand going out to an account with no reference. They stopped two months before she was killed. I also looked at her cell phone bills for those two months. She made a lot of calls to one specific number in the last few days before she died. It's not a number on her phone or mine." He pauses. "I've actually talked to a private detective about it," he says. "That Julian Willemse I mentioned to you."

"And he hasn't been able to trace the bank account or phone numbers?" Auggie looks surprised.

"I didn't have money for his retainer," Jaco says. "But when the money came in yesterday I told him he could get going on it – paid him and asked Jenny to courier the photos and things to him. Hopefully I'll know something soon." He sounds determined.

_The other phone call, _Annie realizes. She wonders briefly who it was that he'd said was in the way. The father maybe? Someone else? Or maybe she'd just misunderstood. But it's a fleeting question. Everything still fits. So much of what Jaco's telling them is putting distance between the man and the evidence that had seemed to be building up against him.

She watches Auggie. He looks tense. And wary. And something else. Shuttered, maybe. As if he's trying to suppress something. She wonders if it's hope.

"And then what?" Auggie asks. His voice seems cold. "You go after the blackmailer, if there is one? Make even more of a mess for yourself?" He pauses. Takes a breath. "Why do you need to know, Jaco?"

"Because I need this to end, Owen." Auggie's succeeded in provoking Jaco. The vet's is agitated. His voice is raised. "I need this _bloody_ roller-coaster to stop so I can just get off." His angst accentuates the last part - the words are separated emphatically.

He breaks off abruptly, stands and goes back to the railing, his back to them again. It is a testament to his degree of distress that he doesn't even apologize for his language. He just stands there, his shoulders heaving as he tries to calm himself.

Auggie is looking strained. Annie goes over to him and puts a hand on his shoulder. Support for what he needs to do next.

"But you can't, can you?" Auggie says. "You're in over your head, aren't you, Jaco?"

Everything changes.

Jaco swings around, bemusement etched all over his face. "In over my head, how, Owen? What did you think I was planning to do? Murder a blackmailer?" He's outraged. "What made you think I was that kind of man?" His eyes are flashing. "I just want to see him or her arrested. Dealt with. I want to draw a line under everything." He looks at Auggie long and hard - his anger morphing into hurt.

Annie has been shut out again. Whatever is flying between these two men has isolated her. Doesn't involve her. She pulls her hand away from Auggie and stands back. She has resumed her role as observer.

It's Auggie who is agitated now. "I _don't_ think you're that kind of man, Jaco. That's why I'm struggling so much with this information we have. I understand desperation, believe me. But I just don't get this."

Jaco has moved beyond offense. "Owen, I don't know what you're talking about." He sounds scared. "What information?" His eyes are fearful.

Auggie hasn't picked up on the fear. He just sounds frustrated. Exasperated. "Information about M99, Jaco." He sighs – the breath loaded with disappointment. "About supplying it to poachers. About _you _supplying it to poachers."

The vet's eyes have widened with shock. "Who gave this to you?" he asks. "What did they say?"

It's not a denial.

"The cops, Jaco," Auggie says. He sounds so tired. "The SAPS Anti-poaching task force. They found a bottle of M99 registered to you at a poaching site a couple of weeks ago."

"Oh, God." The vet's legs seem to collapse under him. He slides down to the floor by the railing, head down on his knees, arms wrapped around them. He doesn't move for a long, long time.

Then he looks up at Auggie. Straight up into his face. His own face is etched with grief. But his eyes are steely. Full of rage. When he speaks his voice is thick with it.

"Have you seen what they do to those animals, Owen?" he asks. His voice is low. It comes out through clenched teeth. His anger is palpable. He hasn't realized his faux pas. Auggie doesn't seem to give a shit. He is fixated on the man – every sense absolutely trained on him.

"They take a chainsaw. And they cut off the front of their faces to get every last bit of horn. And they leave them like that. To wake up. To die in agony. They don't even have the decency to shoot them." His face crumples. He covers it with his hand. Presses hard.

Then he looks up at Auggie. "I could never…" He chokes off, eyes wide, pleading.

"I couldn't…" He tries again. Fails.

Annie watches as Auggie stands up. Carefully makes his way to the man. Crouches down in front of him – he's judged it well – and talks to him. "I believe you, Jaco." He says it softly. That's all he says.

The vet looks up at him. Distraught.

"What do I do, now?" he asks.

There are some people who don't need to be manipulated into turning.

Because they're not the ones who need to be turned.

* * *

_*bakkie: A South African word for a pick-up truck or utility vehicle._


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

_Wednesday June 25__th__, 2014_

_Otjindawa Lodge, Namibia_

By the time Auggie tells Jaco Bouwer that he believes in the man's innocence it is the truth. During their whole conversation he has been, as much as possible, maintaining his mental distance – trying to be as coldly analytical as he can be in the circumstances.

And the man's story holds up. Jaco had not known they'd accessed his computer – his bank accounts. He had not known they'd overheard his phone conversations. He had not known they'd seen the contents of the folder in his room.

And yet he'd told them a story that convincingly explained every single detail in a way that proved no link to the incriminating bottle of M99.

And though he knows he cannot rationally separate his emotions from Jaco's response to their revelations about that bottle, the vet's reaction had rung true. His shock. His bewilderment. His passionate condemnation of the horrific suffering of animals he cares so deeply about.

His despair.

'_What do I do now?'_

It is that question that gets Auggie moving.

He pushes himself up off his haunches and onto his feet. Holds out a hand to the vet.

"_We_," he says, emphasizing the word, "are gonna figure that out right now."

He is gratified to feel the man's hand grip his.

He pulls Jaco to his feet.

* * *

Annie, replacing the tea tin onto the shelf in the room, looks over her shoulder through the open door at Auggie and Jaco sitting side-by-side on the deck. Jaco is cradling a mug of tea that he has accepted from Annie in lieu of the stronger drink Auggie had offered him. Auggie is...being Auggie – present, thoughtful. _There._

She feels a tug of recognition. How many times has she sat alongside him just as Jaco is now – seeking reassurance, advice, solidarity?

"Laura," Auggie calls back over his shoulder to her,"you coming?"

"On my way," she says, picking up her own mug of tea from the counter.

She sits. Catches Jaco's eye. Gives him a slight nod of reassurance. He's more composed, but his eyes are still stricken. He breaks eye contact. Looks down at his mug. Brings it up to his mouth. Takes a sip.

There's a silence. Respectful. Auggie, like Annie, seems to be sensing the wisdom of giving Jaco space – allowing him to take the floor when he's ready.

The vet takes his time. Pensively sips his tea. Then he speaks, his voice full of apology. "I'm sorry," he says. "I didn't mean to fall apart like that." He glances up again at Annie. "It's just…" He breaks off, as if to gather his thoughts. "I just keep thinking it's getting better, you know? That I'm finally finished with all the struggling. And then something else happens." He's beginning to lose his composure again. Stops. Takes a deep breath.

Auggie has turned to face him. There are grim lines around his mouth. His eyes. "Yeah, I know a bit about that," he says.

Jaco glances at him briefly – a quick, sidelong glance. He leans forward. Looks at Auggie again. A long look this time. "Yes. I can imagine you do," he says – his expression shrewd. He is nodding slightly as if to himself. He's quiet for a moment. Then he asks, "What made you keep going?"

"Hmm…" Auggie hunches his shoulders a little. Looks away from Jaco as if giving the question some thought. "Stubbornness, I guess," he says eventually, turning back to face Jaco. "I kinda like giving the Universe a one-fingered salute." He sends him a fleeting grin. His face sobers quickly, though – his expression becoming very earnest. "You're not on your own on this one, Jaco. You know that, right? We can help. If you want us to."

Jaco stares out over the plains – the arid, beautiful space on the other side of the railing. "How?" he asks.

"By working through this one piece at a time," replies Auggie. "By working out how that bottle could have gotten there if you didn't put it there. And then, from there, working out who could have done it and why..." He stops.

Jaco is watching him intently - with full concentration. The shock seems to be wearing off. Hopefully he can now give Auggie what is needed - his focus, his intelligence, his knowledge.

"How's that sound?" asks Auggie. "You ready to walk us through some things here?"

"I'm ready." The man sounds composed, resolute.

"Good." Auggie is nodding, his brow creased. Figuring things out in his head. He sits back, folds his arms against his chest. "OK," he says. "Why don't we start with M99..."

* * *

By the time Auggie has finished carefully and strategically extracting information from Jaco a clearer picture is emerging regarding the direction they need to take next. Auggie suggests Jaco go back to his room - "We're going to have to make some calls, see what we can get organized. We'll do that and then come and find you before dinner. Let you know what's happening."

Jaco departs.

They put in a call to Langley. When Joan hears what it's about she loops in Calder, too.

_Great,_ thinks Auggie, wryly, _two people I have to talk around._

They've given Joan and Calder the run-down: Jaco's story and the tie-ins with the evidence they have accumulated thus far.

"What do your instincts say?" Joan asks. "Is he our guy?"

"No." Auggie doesn't equivocate. "It hasn't felt right from the start, Joan. I spent half a day with the guy and my gut was already telling me it didn't fit."

"Annie?" Joan seeks a second opinion.

"I agree with Auggie, Joan. I think he's telling us the truth."

"OK…" Joan draws it out. "So where do we go from here?"

Auggie seizes his opportunity. "We spoke to Jaco about the drug. The procedure for ordering from the suppliers." He expounds: "It works like this: The supplier has to have a signed prescription for each order, so Jaco writes one. Signs it. It then gets faxed through to the supplier who registers the bottle or bottles to Jaco and then dispatches the order" He stops briefly for a breath. "Once it gets to the practice it's logged into their system, and then Jaco keeps a record of his patient-by-patient usage in a drug register which then gets reconciled with the records on the system when he gets back…"

Calder has obviously been listening attentively because he jumps in. "So definitely breachable in a few places," he deduces.

"Yeah," Auggie confirms. "Jaco doesn't often fax the prescriptions himself. He usually leaves that to whoever puts in the rest of the drug order for that day."

"Being…?" prompts Joan.

"Being the practice manager or the other vet."

Annie chimes in: "The practice manager is Michelle Bouwer's younger brother's girlfriend – Leeza Ford - she's been there since they opened about five years ago. The new vet has been working there for about nine months. Dr. Theresa Purdon."

"Did Jaco give any indication whether he thought either of them might be responsible?"

"No," Auggie replies, remembering Jaco's insistence that it couldn't be either of them. That there must be some other explanation. "He seems pretty sure neither could be involved."

"But…" Joan has astutely picked up on Auggie's tone.

"But," Auggie echoes, "they're the only two people with real opportunity. Whoever it is must be accessing both the ordering side of things and record-keeping. Otherwise Jaco would be seeing the discrepancies."

"So, we're gonna have to look into these two now?" Calder sounds exasperated. "With a rapidly ticking time bomb on our hands." He sighs audibly. "Why is it that the minute you two get involved things get complicated?" He pauses. "I guess we're going to have to get Joburg on it ASAP."

Auggie clears his throat.

"Auggie, don't bother. I already know what you're going to say." Joan stalls him. There is amusement in her voice.

"Oh, no. No." Calder is sounding somewhat disturbed. "Joan. Bad idea. These two are trouble just waiting for a place to happen."

"They also," Joan adds – not, Auggie notes, denying Calder's sentiment – "are very good at getting things done." _Still in my corner, _Auggie thinks with a swell of affection.

"Auggie," she continues, directing the conversation back towards him, "be completely honest with me now. How good a chance have you got of getting to the bottom of this? Quickly?"

He doesn't hesitate. "A _good_ chance, Joan." He says it emphatically. "Through Jaco we have access to the practice, the systems, the people…"

"But he could give that all to someone in Joburg too," objects Calder.

"We have his trust," Auggie argues, "so we have him. That counts for a lot when time's running out."

"OK. OK." Joan's voice cuts across their debate authoritatively. "I've made my decision. Annie and Auggie will go to Johannesburg tomorrow."

_Yes!_

"But…" she interrupts Auggie's internal celebration, "we'll work out a protocol with Joburg and you'll link with them, work _with_ them. Are we clear?" She's in full-on lecture mode. "No going off the radar."

"Yes, Ma'am." He does his best to sound compliant.

"Hmm." She sounds skeptical. "Don't make me regret this," she says. Then she adds reflectively, as a sort of self-directed afterthought, "I always say that, don't I?"

Calder makes no comment, but Auggie is pretty sure their boss is shaking his head in exasperation. Maybe even rolling his eyes. In fact he'd be willing to place a bet on it.

* * *

They walk up to Jaco's room an hour or so before supper. "We're here," says Annie, stopping – at the precise moment Auggie hears the door open, an indrawn breath and Jaco huffing out a short laugh.

"That was good timing," Jaco says. "I was just about to leave this on my door."

There is a rustle of paper. Annie reads aloud: "Holly has asked me to check one of the cheetahs. Will be back by dinner." More rustling as she presumably hands the note back to Jaco. "What's wrong?" Annie asks, sounding concerned.

"I don't think it's anything serious," the vet assures her. "One of the staff saw some blood on Marge's flank this evening and is worried she may have injured herself somehow. I'm just going to drive down and check quickly if it's something I need to do anything about." The room door closes. Is locked. "Do you two want to come along? We can talk on the way. It'll be just us."

"Sure." He and Annie say it almost in unison. He grins at her. Feels the brush of her fingers on his arm and switches around so he can hold her elbow. Gives her arm a little squeeze. _Thanks._

He joins Jaco in the front of the vehicle, Annie choosing to sit in back. As they pull away Auggie begins bringing the vet up to speed. "We made our calls," he tells Jaco. "Spoke to the powers that be. They've said Laura and I can head over to South Africa. Start looking into it ourselves." He can feel an involuntary smile beginning to form. He doesn't fight it. "They're hoping we'll dig up a bigger story, I think."

Jaco doesn't comment.

Auggie realizes what that must have sounded like to him.

"Jaco, listen to me." he says, sobering quickly - trying to push the earnestness he's feeling into his voice. Facing the guy. Doing what he can to get his message across to him. To make him believe. "We're on your team. Don't doubt that, OK? Laura and I have to tell our editor what she wants to hear, but trust me on this, please: We are not going to publish anything on this without you knowing about it. I promise. And we are going to do our best to get to the bottom of this for you. OK?"

He is relieved to hear Jaco's quiet responding "OK."

"Good." Auggie leans back again. "Now. We're gonna be flying to Johannesburg tomorrow and obviously the sooner we can start work the better."

Jaco is already ahead of him. "Owen, just tell me where you need to go, what you need to see and who you need to talk to and I'll do whatever I can."

Auggie does just that.

* * *

Jaco pulls the vehicle to a halt, opens his door, climbs out. Auggie hears Annie's door opening too. "You coming?" she asks him.

"Nah," he says. "I'll wait here."

The vehicle shifts as she gets out. Her door closes.

He broods - mulling over the task they have ahead of them. For all of two minutes. And then his door is jerked open.

"Owen. Out." He is startled but the adrenalin subsides rapidly when he realizes she is sounding imperious, not anxious. His mouth quirks.

"You've been spending too much time with Holly", he informs her, giving her a look. But he grabs his cane off the dash and clambers out.

"Come." She offers him a lead. He accepts, closing the door behind him.

"What's happening?" he enquires, but she doesn't answer, just drags him forward. She stops. "OK, you're in front of the fence," she tells him. "Crouch down and put your hand up against it."

He reaches forward, finds the fence, lifts an eyebrow at her but does what she says. A warm furry cheetah head (he presumes that's what it is) pushes against his hand and then moves away, returns. The accompanying soundtrack is deafening.

"Marge?" he asks Annie, but it's Jaco, coming up behind him who answers.

"Yes. The old lady herself."

"Is that her _purring?_" he asks. It sounds like a Harley engine. Same tone. Same volume.

"It's incredible isn't it?" There's a laugh bubbling up in Annie's voice. Delight. "You see why I had to come get you?"

He grins up at her. "It's crazy," he says, shaking his head a little. He tickles Marge's head through the diamond mesh. "Is this safe, Jaco? I mean, should I be keeping my hand flat? I kinda need these fingers."

Jaco laughs. "You're fine," he tells Auggie. "You can give her a good scratch. She loves it."

The volume of Marge's purring is certainly adding weight to Jaco's assertion.

"How is she?" he asks the vet.

"Oh, she's fine," Jaco says. "It isn't her blood. It looks like a guinea fowl learnt the hard way that landing in a cheetah's camp is not a very good idea."

"Attagirl," Auggie compliments her, impressed. "Still got it in you, huh?" He gives the ear she presses against his hand a good scratch.

She rumbles her appreciation.

* * *

They walk back from dinner under no moon and a sky full of stars. Or so Annie tells him. She seems enraptured by the clarity of the sky, the volume of stars.

"Just don't start naming them all for me," he tells her. "I know you're a space camp graduate and all, but really, don't."

Back at the room, they open a bottle of wine. He sits on the deck with glass in hand and drinks in the night along with his wine. He feels himself relaxing, lulled by the peace of it all.

Annie is puttering around doing things in the room, though, and that bothers him.

"What're you doing, Walker?" He leans back to call to her.

"I'm sorting the laundry they sent back this afternoon" she informs him. "It'll make packing easier tomorrow."

"The laundry can wait," he decides. "There are more important things for you to do right now."

"Oh, yeah? Like what?" It's odd, but there's a raised eyebrow in her voice. Auggie can hear it. Clear as a bell.

"Like coming over here," he tells her.

She doesn't answer immediately. The puttering stops and then the soft strains of mellow saxophone begin to drift outside. The smell of Annie follows, and then Annie herself.

"Mmmm. Coltrane," he says approvingly to her, placing his glass on the table. He stands up. Pushes his chair aside and holds out a hand. "Where are you, Miss Walker?"

A hand slides into his, followed by a body which molds itself against his. "I'm here," she murmurs into his ear.

"Hello." He smiles into her hair and pulls her in against him. "Would you like to see if we can get all the way through a dance this evening?"

She laughs. "I would," she tells him.

He, however, has lost focus. His hands have revealed something to him. He stills. "Are you wearing what I think you're wearing?" He hopes so. He really hopes so.

"If you think I'm wearing that dress from Vienna, then yes. I am." He can hear the satisfied grin under the words. She's surprised him. She'd wanted to surprise him.

He sends up a silent hallelujah and pulls her in close. "If _this _is what you mean when you say 'sorting the laundry'" he says, pulling her into a turn as the bass-line begins to pick up, urging them to move, "I'm OK with that."

She giggles. And she moves with him.

And they dance.

* * *

He lies stretched out on his back on his bed, hands under his head, and listens to her getting ready for bed. The room door is open allowing a cool breeze and night sounds to drift in and merge with the sounds of her.

"Why'd you pack that dress, anyway?" he calls to her in the bathroom.

"Last minute thing" she says, mouth full of toothbrush. Sound of spitting and rinsing. "I knew they often have A-list celebs here. Stuck it in just in case we found ourselves in fancy company."

"You should probably have told me to pack my tux, though" he tells her. "You'd have looked really strange on the arm of a guy dressed entirely in khaki."

"Har," comes her response.

There's a small part of him wondering if that was the only reason she'd packed it.

Soft footfalls herald her coming and then she is on the bed next to him. He props himself up on one elbow. She pushes him back down again so she can lie on her back next to him - rests her head on his shoulder. He curls his arm around her so that he can play with her hair.

"Feeling a little lonely all the way over here?" she teases him.

"Not anymore."

He says it very seriously. Means it.

They lie together quietly for a while, neither saying anything. He doesn't want to. Doesn't need to.

"I'm going to miss this place," she says wistfully. "It's…" She doesn't finish, just allows the words to form themselves in the air around them.

"It is," he agrees.

He reaches over so that he can trace the side of her face with the back of one finger.

_It is._

* * *

**END OF PART TWO**

* * *

_Author's Note: Although all the (non-borrowed) characters featured thus far in this story are firmly products of my imagination, the Lodge and reserve are based on real places. My husband and I are part of the veterinary team that does annual health checks and research on the cheetahs and other cats cared for by the AfriCat Foundation, based on Okonjima Farm, near Otjiwarongo, in central Namibia. The descriptions of place and activities are based on my experiences there. The volunteer program also exists (although I have taken liberties with the details) organised by a U.K. based company called Steppes Discovery. Although the accessibility of the program is something I added as part of the story, it has struck me, while there, how uniquely accessible the health checks would be. I'd love to see them explore that possibility one day. _


	21. Chapter 21

**PART 3**

* * *

**SOUTH AFRICA**

* * *

**Chapter 21**

_Thursday June 26__th__, 2014_

_Otjindawa Lodge, Namibia_

Joan's phone call to the Lodge at a quarter to five the next morning sets in motion a rapid cascade of events that sees Auggie and Annie boarding a flight to South Africa by mid-morning.

The staff at Otjindawa Lodge, it appears, are willing to move heaven and earth to help Laura Pritchard get back to New York and her critically ill mother as soon as possible. The chef is woken up so that they can have an early breakfast. Michael re-schedules his day so he can drive them down to Windhoek to be there in time for the flight to Johannesburg that Jennifer has roused her 'person in Windhoek' to get them onto. By six thirty everything has been organized.

Auggie calls Jaco. From Owen Garrett's phone.

"We're on our way, Jaco…We'll be wheels down in Joburg at twelve thirty...I know. They don't waste time here, do they? …It means we're gonna have an extra half-day to start looking around. Asking questions." He can hear the anticipation in his own voice as clearly as he can hear the optimism in Jaco's.

Jaco hasn't been wasting time either. "I spoke to Michelle's brother, and you're in luck. The guest cottage at his home is vacant for the next few days so you can rent it. I've made a provisional booking for you for three nights. I'll text you the details. And Christiaan's cell number… Do you want me to confirm with him? Let him know you'll be there early afternoon?"

_Perfect. _Jaco had hoped he'd be able to arrange it. Christiaan du Buisson's home is conveniently situated within relatively easy reach of both Jaco's practice and the house he and Michelle had shared. Even more importantly, Michelle's brother-in-law's connection to Leeza Ford, the practice administrator, makes him a key person on their 'to be investigated' list.

Michael calls in at the room for their bags. He offers them a ride to breakfast. Once again, they decline. Instead, they walk for the last time along what Auggie has already come to think of as 'their' path. An unexpected swell of some unidentifiable emotion makes him smile as his cane touches the post now demarcating the end of the path.

_You've left your own little stamp on this place, Anderson. _

It matches the mark Namibia will be leaving on him.

* * *

_Johannesburg, South Africa._

Negotiating airports with Annie is a dream. He's flown blind frequently enough to know the score – how it all works, or how it's _supposed_ to, at any rate. But there's always an element of unpredictability. Someone, somewhere who needs to be talked through things they're supposed to know. It can be exhausting. Annie, however, is a consummate professional. She understands the systems better than the staff, can charm anyone into doing anything for her, _and _it turns out, is a very quick study when it comes to learning how to use his white cane to their advantage. They're through passport control, luggage collection and out into the echoing space that is O. R. Thambo International Airport's arrivals hall within what seems like an impossibly short time.

He's struck again by how cathedral-like the airport sounds. Annie had told him, when they stopped on the way to Windhoek, that it looks that way a little, too. A huge open-plan, storeys-high, central space from which stairways, escalators and curving ramps spiral out to reach the different levels. Her description makes him think of remembered images of spiral galaxies. Cathedral-like in their own way too, he supposes.

"Wanna find us somewhere we can sit down and get a coffee?" he suggests to Annie. "I need to check in with Jaco and then liaise with Christiaan."

"Sure," she says.

She sounds preoccupied.

She's been very subdued all day, he's noted. In part it's been cover – Laura Pritchard, shocked, anxious, grieving – but Auggie has sensed there's something else going on. The fact that the quietness, distraction, distance have remained even after they've taken their leave of Michael has served to confirm it.

Once they're seated and have given their orders he tries to tease her out of it. "You do know your Mom's not really sick, right?"

Annie rewards him with a little laugh. Apologizes. "Sorry. I've been a bit out of it, haven't I?"

"Yeah, you have." He doesn't deny it. Instead he gives her his full focus. "Everything OK?"

"I'm fine," she says. "A few things on my mind is all."

"Wanna talk about it?"

Her hand touches his lightly. "No. Really, it's fine. It's nothing."

He doesn't believe it. She's deliberately forcing a smile into her voice. Brightness into her tone. _Evasive,_ he thinks, but he doesn't push it.

That doesn't mean he isn't worried, though.

He uses a call to Jaco to break the tension that's suddenly, unexpectedly, there.

"It's all arranged," Jaco tells him. "Christiaan is expecting you. In fact he's offered to collect you from the Station at Rosebank if you want to take the Gautrain instead of renting a car."

Auggie doesn't hesitate. The less of a paper trail Owen Garrett and Laura Pritchard can leave in South Africa, the better. "That would be great," he says. "Should I call him to arrange it?

Annie gets them to the Gautrain terminal at the airport. While they wait for the next train, Auggie phones Jaco's brother-in-law. From 'Owen Garrett's' phone.

"Christiaan?...Hi. Owen Garrett here. Jaco's friend?...Jaco says you're willing to collect us from the station?...Great!...We're just about to get onto the train, so we'll be across your way in…what? About half an hour?...Great…Thanks…See you there."

He ends the call. Turns to Annie. "He says he'll find us in the drop-off zone at the Rosebank station. Black BMW X5."

She puts a hand on his arm. "Train's coming," she tells him.

* * *

Rosebank, it is becoming increasingly apparent to Annie, is in the middle of 'Rich Johannesburg'. As the train nears the station they begin passing luxurious housing estates, exclusive shopping malls, plush hotels. The streets are tree-lined, landscaped, pristine. And there is visible security everywhere.

Once they arrive, Annie navigates them out of the station and through the doors that the signage indicates lead towards the drop-off zone. Auggie is on her arm, as before, pulling his bag, folded cane in his hand.

She can't see a car matching the description Auggie has given her, so she stops him at the curb.

"I don't see him here yet," she says.

They park their bags. She watches as he folds open his cane, abstractedly shaking it out and leaning on it. Preparing to wait.

He is so comfortable in his skin. So consistently _himself. _It's so at odds with the way she feels these days – like she went missing somewhere along the line.

She wishes she knew how to go back and find herself.

She shakes her head a little, dragging her thoughts back. Tears her eyes away from him.

"Hold on, here he comes, I think." She places a hand on Auggie's arm. She has spotted a gleaming black SUV entering the station parking area. It pulls into a bay a little way from where they're standing. An expensively-dressed, _really _good-looking, fair-haired man gets out. He looks at them, but then away, obviously dismissing them. Leans his tall frame nonchalantly against his car. Begins to scan the exit.

"Uh-oh," Annie murmurs quietly to Auggie. "I'm thinking Jaco may have omitted to tell Christiaan one or two things about us. He just looked right at us and away again."

"You mean he's _not_ looking for a smoking hot blonde?" Auggie grins, raising an eyebrow at her.

She gives him the "Har," he is looking for. And an elbow in the ribs for good measure.

He looks gratified. Then he turns serious. "Annie Walker," he says to her, "Jaco Bouwer is a very clever man."

"Meaning what?" He's lost her momentarily.

He feels for her arm. "Meaning," he says, turning her to face him, "that Jaco understands the power of surprise. Of putting people on the back foot. And he knows Christiaan. If he's decided not to say something there's a reason for it." He's speaking very earnestly to her. "Follow my lead, Annie. I'm gonna play the blindness up. Go along with it, OK?"

She frowns at him, but she gets it. "Misdirection?"

"Exactly." He quirks his mouth at her. "Now, go." He gestures with his head in the direction of the BMW. "Break the news to the man that we're the ones he's looking for."

Christiaan du Buisson sees her coming. She can identify the precise moment he realizes who she is. He straightens up. Glances quickly from her to Auggie and back again. Consternation crosses his chiseled features. Fleeting, but unmistakeable.

She walks purposefully up to him, pulling out all the Laura Pritchard charm she can. She holds out a hand prettily. "Are you Christiaan du Buisson?" She gives him a ravishing smile. He returns it. With interest. She adds beautiful, deep-set, blue eyes to her mental catalog of his features.

_This man's a god._

He's eyeing her appreciatively, too. "I am, indeed," he says, taking her hand and shaking it slowly. He's subtly giving her the once over, she notes. _A god _and _a player_, she thinks. "I find myself sincerely hoping _you_ are Laura Pritchard." His English South African accent carries a hint of something else in it. She guesses he may have spent time in the U.K. His smile has become a little flirtatious.

_He knows full well how to use those looks._

"I am," she says, deliberately looking up at him from under her lashes. _Two can play this game. _"Thank you _so _much for offering to get us. Car rental is so expensive and we freelancers are always on a budget." She draws a breath. "Not to mention I'm _terrified_ about driving on the wrong side of the road." She opens her eyes wide. "Although, I guess you'd call it the 'right' side of the road. Even though it's the left. Which makes no sense to Americans like me." She laughs.

He chuckles in response. "Miss Pritchard, maybe we can reach a compromise and just say that South Africans _don't_ drive on the _right_ side of the road. That way we can all agree." He flashes his beautiful, white, even-toothed smile at her. _So very, very charming._

"Sounds like a deal," She smiles up into his eyes. Holds his gaze a little longer than is quite necessary. Watches his eyes flicker in response. _Hooked._

_Dance your underestimation dance, Auggie. But I've just discovered moves I'm going to be able to add to yours._

"Excellent." The smile flashes again. His gaze shifts over to where Auggie is standing. His face changes. "Is that Owen?" he asks. There's a tiny bit of _something _in his voice. Incredulity maybe.

She decides to test him. "It is," she says, tilting her head to look up at him. "You seem surprised."

"I am, actually," he tells her. "Jaco never said anything about him being…"

_Beautiful? Brilliant? _"…blind?" she fills in for him.

He looks at her, apparently trying to gauge her feelings. She keeps her expression neutral. "Not that that's a problem, of course," he adds hastily, "it just strikes me as an obvious thing to mention."

"I guess so," she says noncommittally, "but then again Jaco doesn't strike me as a very obvious kind of guy. I'm not surprised he and Owen get along so well, to be honest. They're both…unusual."

He gives her another appraising look, then. Maybe she's done what she hoped she'd do: create an 'us' and a 'them' – she and Christiaan as 'us' and Jaco and Auggie as 'them'.

His next question confirms that. "Jaco seemed to indicate you two are more than work colleagues?"

He frames it as a question.

She holds his gaze for a moment, and then looks away. Eyes down.

Ironically it's the truth that's going to serve them best in this situation.

"Things are…complicated between us right now," she tells him. She looks back up at him. Holds his gaze for a long while. Long enough to see the interest flare in his eyes.

* * *

Christiaan insists on moving the car to where Auggie is still patiently waiting. "It'll make things easier for him, won't it?" he comments.

Annie has to work hard to keep her face neutral. Her eyes are desperately trying to roll in her head.

They pull up directly in front of Auggie. Exit the car. Auggie tracks his movements with his head. Christiaan turns to Annie. "Can he see anything?" It's said quietly, but loudly enough for Auggie to hear. She notes the slight twitch of his lips.

Annie winces inwardly._ You can ask him yourself, you know. He's right in front of you_. But she does what Auggie wants. Looks at Christiaan and wordlessly shakes her head.

She feels like a traitor, though.

She takes Christiaan over and performs the introductions. The greeting between the two men is awkward. Auggie deliberately doesn't hold out a hand for a handshake leaving Christiaan unsure what to do with his.

_Oof. Below the belt, Auggie. _She smirks privately, amused. Auggie has his own subtle ways of dealing with annoying people.

Christiaan reddens a little and pulls his hand back. He's polite, but Annie sees the flash of annoyance in his eyes. Apparently he does not like being made to look foolish. No matter how 'innocent' the cause.

The brief car journey is filled with small talk. Which leads to big talk. To an opportunity for them.

"So, Jaco says you're working on a story about rhino poaching." Christiaan says.

Annie, seated next to him in the front, answers. "In a way," she says. "We _do _want to highlight the plight of the rhinos, but mostly we want to showcase some of the work that's being done to try and save them - to talk about different organizations and what they do." She pauses. "Jaco told us about your family's project while we were there, actually. We were hoping we might have a chance to talk to you about it. It sounded really interesting. Unique." She sends him a full-wattage smile. "Only if you're not too busy, that is."

"Oh, I'll _make_ time for you." He's looking over at her, the glint in his eye adding a suggestiveness to his statement. Auggie may be in the back seat, but Christiaan's not above flirting with her literally under his nose. In fact, Annie senses the man is getting a kick out of it. "Would you be free for dinner tonight, perhaps? I'd love to take you out."

She's had enough. "Owen and I would _love _that. Thank you." She beams at him, enthusiastically.

His smile dims a little.

* * *

Christiaan departs for a meeting after delivering Annie, him and their luggage to the garden cottage and giving them (Annie) a quick rundown of all the security features they need to be aware of: remotes for the gate, code for the keypad, how to know if the sensors in the garden are activated and which button on the remote deactivates them; the phone number of the security company.

_Fear in direct proportion to wealth,_ thinks Auggie.

"Franzina, the maid, will be here until five," Annie is told. "Everything you need should be here, but if there's something we've forgotten, please do go up to the house and ask her. I'll be back to collect you at seven thirty."

Then he's gone.

"How's it look?" He's left Auggie and Annie standing together at the door of the cottage. It _sounds _pretty - trickling water running through a fountain of some kind, leaves rustling in trees, birdsong. She gives him a brief description: Large house - like a scaled down version of an English manor house -Victorian in style, pristine. Set in a formal garden – manicured green lawns (despite the dry winter), topiary, hedges, fountains, formally laid out rose beds, immaculate brick pathways. A large swimming-pool secured by a beautiful wrought iron fence. Their cottage, styled in keeping with the house, but set at the bottom of the garden, a good distance away from the main residence.

They take their luggage inside. Annie gives him a tour: kitchen, living room, bathroom, bedroom.

Twin beds.

She says nothing about that. No comment, no quip, nothing.

The worry from earlier rises up again. He pushes it back down.

He talks to her while they unpack.

"What's your take on this guy?" he asks her. He has a pretty good idea what she's going to say.

"Oh, you should see him, Auggie," she says. "He looks like he walked off the cover of GQ Magazine. He's immaculate. _Gorgeous…_"

"Annie," he advises her, "Swallow. You don't wanna drool onto his _gorgeous_ wooden floor."

She ignores him. Or maybe she doesn't. At any rate she chooses not to let him in on her response. "He's charming, he's refined, he's clever…_witty_…" she continues.

"I'm really hoping there's gonna be a 'but' in here somewhere."

"But…"

"Thank God."

She laughs a little, but immediately turns serious again. "But…he uses all those things as tools, I think. I get the feeling he's the center of his own universe, Auggie. A classic narcissist. He was really getting off on flirting with me, getting a response from me, right in front of you."

"Yeah, I kinda got that." Auggie says, wryly. He straightens up and turns around to face her. He's heard the perturbation in her voice. "That's what we wanted, Annie," he says, wanting to encourage her. "It's what we want. I know it's bugging you, but you're playing him just right. Carry on, OK?"

She's silent. He suspects she may be nodding to herself. He doesn't call her on it this time though.

"It's like Fort Knox here" she says, thoughtfully, "but you know what, Auggie?" Her tone has changed. "I'm gonna take a walk in these lovely gardens and do some reconnaissance. I'm gonna figure out which rooms are which and I'm gonna figure out how we're gonna get in there." She's sounding fired up for the first time. Full of determination. He suppresses a smile, paradoxically finding himself grateful to Christiaan du Buisson. "I don't know about you, Auggie, but I want us to get into this guy's computer, tap his phone, bug his office, bug his damn _bedroom_…"

Auggie laughs at her. "He really got under your skin, didn't he, Walker?"

She huffs out a laugh in response. "You caught that, huh?"

"I did." He grins at her. "I'm kinda glad I'm not in his shoes, right now. You sound like a woman on a mission."

"I _am_," she informs him. She is moving towards him.

"You don't happen to be looking for a side-kick, by any chance?" he asks. He gives her what he hopes is an appealing smile.

She's stopped next to him. Brushes her hand against the back of his. "As a matter of fact, I am," she says. "Would you be willing to escort me on a stroll around the garden?" She says it in a wonderful parody of a genteel English accent.

There is playfulness in her voice. Lightness. Energy.

How could anyone refuse her?

He tucks his arm through hers. "Lead on, Madam," he says. His attempt at sounding British falls far short of hers.

She giggles.

He feigns hurt.

They exit the room with the twin beds.


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

_Thursday, June 26__th__, 2014_

_Johannesburg, South Africa_

Annie and Auggie's brief "walk in the garden" is sanctioned by the sweet and motherly Franzina to whom they introduce themselves. Things will definitely go less smoothly, Auggie feels, if they are mistaken for intruders and the armed response company is summoned.

Their reconnaissance reveals a possible way into the palatial prison that is their host's home.

The house, Annie confirms, is locked up tight. Bars at all the windows, alarm system with infra-red sensors in all the rooms (or all the ones Annie can see into anyway), sliding security gates at each door.

"D'you think you can get through the front door?" Auggie asks her.

"Yeah. Security gate's lock looks tricky but I think I can do it."

The alarm system is one of those that is activated or deactivated from keypads inside the house – the system allowing a brief grace period for punching in the code before the alarm is triggered. There are only two keypads Annie can see: one by the front door (Annie had noted it when they spoke to Franzina through the security gate at the front door) and one at the door between the kitchen and the garage.

"I can see that one clearly through the kitchen window," Annie informs Auggie. "Good chance I could get the code if I watched someone punch it in. I can't see the keypad at the front from the outside."

They plan a simple surveillance mission for approximately five p.m. – the end of Franzina's workday. All they need to do is make sure Christiaan du Buisson's housekeeper _has _to use the exit through the garage and have Annie in position to watch her enter the code.

She watches Auggie finger his watch. He informs Annie that they have approximately two and a half hours to wait.

_Two and a half hours for other things, you mean. _She can hear the subtext.

"Why am I thinking you have something in mind to kill the time?" she asks him as they saunter back towards the cottage.

"No idea," he says, shooting her a grin. She can tell he's enjoying himself. He asks her nonchalantly: "You didn't by any chance pack any work-out gear did you?"

* * *

They stand on the grass verge outside the gate of Christiaan du Buisson's home.

Annie has guided him to the perimeter wall adjacent to the gate. He has his palms against it - stretching out his calves, hamstrings and quads.

If the subtle grunts drifting his way are anything to go by she is doing the same.

"So, are you gonna talk me through this or not?" The words are said almost in his ear. She's obviously finished her routine and come to stand by him. He pushes himself away from the wall and turns to lean with his shoulder against it, facing her.

"You've never done this before?" He opens his eyes wide. Feigns horror. "Am I gonna be safe?"

"Course I have," she says, airily. "I go running with sexy blind guys all the time."

"Oh, really?" He laces his voice with irony.

"Why wouldn't I?" she challenges him. "I know so many of them."

"Liar."

"You hope."

"Annie Walker," he remonstrates. "I'm a spy. I _know._"

"All right," she capitulates. "You got me."

"And here I was thinking I could trust you." He shakes his head sadly. "Although," he says, reconsidering, "I can forgive the occasional lie if it means you calling me 'sexy'..." He sends her a grin. She gives him a whack on the back of the head.

"Hey!" he remonstrates. "Uncalled for. You're supposed to treat me with respect, you know. For all intents and purposes, I'm your boss on this mission."

She snorts.

"And for _that_," he tells her, "You can pass me the things I put down over there somewhere." He waves vaguely.

She sighs dramatically but brushes past him. "Here," she says. He holds out his hands. They are filled with his folded cane, his phone, earphones and armband pouch, and the belt from one of the terry-cloth robes he'd found in the bathroom while he was scouting out their new digs.

He hands the latter back to Annie. "Hang on to this for a minute?" Tucking his cane temporarily into his waist band, he straps the armband onto his upper right arm. Then he sets up his phone the way he wants it and tucks it into the pouch. He's plugged the earphones into it. Pops one of the earpieces into his right ear.

He holds out a hand again. "OK. Give me one end, and you take the other." One end of the make-shift tether is pressed into his palm. "Right – wrap it around your hand like this," he demonstrates on his own left hand. "We need about a foot of it between us." The tether tightens. He runs his free hand along it until he reaches her right hand. Checking. "Yeah. Good," he tells her. He pulls his folded cane free again, holding it in his right hand. "OK," he asks her, "ready for a trial run? Up the road a short way? You run. I'll adjust my stride to yours."

"You're assuming you're going to be able to keep up." She's baiting him.

"Oh, har." He sends her the disparaging look he feels her comment deserves. She doesn't respond. She's already moving them forward. He feels the downward incline of sloping curb and then the road under his feet.

"On three," she says. "One…two…"

They set off. "See?" he says. "Easy."

After fifty or so yards he pulls them to a halt.

"You happy?" he asks.

"Yeah," she says. There's a pause. "You look like you're running in a relay. I keep waiting for you to pass your cane on to me." She sounds amused. "Why'd you bring it? You don't trust me?"

"Asks the person who just admitted to being a liar," he retorts.

"I could just leave you here, you know."

"You could," he agrees. "Which is exactly why I brought it along." He waves the cane at her. "Also, if you drop down dead of a heart attack, or fall into a water hazard it might come in handy."

"Thanks," she says indignantly. He ducks, expecting another whack on the head. It doesn't come. He has no idea whether that's because he ducked successfully or because she showed more mercy this time.

He laughs. "No," he says a little more seriously, "I just thought it might make things easier on the other side," he tells her. "'Be prepared'," he intones. "Scout's motto. Once a Boy Scout, always a Boy Scout..."

"Speaking of 'the other side'," she inquires, "where do we go from here?"

"Up this road," he informs her, "then north along the golf course, up to the park. Then we hop onto the road over the highway. That gets us into the right area." He taps the phone strapped to his shoulder. "It's all here," he says. "Leave the navigation up to me. All you need to do is make sure I don't trip up curbs, fall into manholes, run into poles, brain myself on tree branches... that kinda thing."

"Yes, sir," she says.

"I like it," he grins approvingly. "Think we can make it in twenty minutes?"

"Three miles? You _are_ joking, right?" There is derision in her voice.

He laughs. "All right then, Speedy," he says, tightening the tether around his hand again, "let's go."

* * *

By the time Auggie tells her to turn right into the road on which Jaco's house is situated, she's breathing hard.

"I always forget how much harder it is when you're so far above sea level," he comments to her, obviously hearing her gasps. "Takes a while to acclimatize." He deliberately slows her down, which is kind of him. He doesn't have the grace, however, to sound even slightly breathless himself. "OK," he says, "the house should be coming up soon on our right."

"I'll keep an eye out." Annie guides him across yet another four-way-stop style intersection – a seeming specialty of suburban Johannesburg – and onto the next block. The suburbs are tree-lined and quiet. They've had to negotiate very few cars and have passed only a handful of pedestrians, all of whom have responded to her greetings with warmth – and curious looks.

Apart from the thinness of the six-thousand-feet-above-sea-level air, it's been a lovely run - not very different to running through the leafy 'burbs of most American cities. This is certainly not stereotypical 'Africa'.

"You have arrived at your destination," Auggie informs her, in a perfect parody (she assumes) of his phone.

"So have you," she tells him, slowing to a walk and steering them off the road. "You are now standing on the driveway of number twenty-six," she pants, "and I'm letting you go." She bends over - hands on her knees - trying to get oxygen back into her lungs.

He, uncharacteristically sympathetic, doesn't mock her as she is expecting. Instead, as he waits for her to recover, he coils the chord up, pulls the earpiece out of his ear, and tucks his earphones into the pouch with his phone.

Once her lungs have stopped burning she stands up and touches him on the arm. "Let's go."

* * *

She rings the bell at the gate. They're not expecting a response – Jaco has informed them that his house-sitter has a full-time job and so is unlikely to be home during the day. That seems to be confirmed. There is no answer.

"Looks like no one's home," she tells Auggie. "I'm going to let us in." She pulls the keys Jaco gave them while they were in Namibia from the key pouch in her running pants and opens the pedestrian gate set into the wall next to the driveway gate. "We're in," she says with satisfaction.

He grins at her. "You make that sound like an achievement," he teases. "You usually do this kind of thing _without_ keys, you know."

"Yeah, but usually I can breathe while I'm doing it." She offers him a lead again. "OK. Front door. Two steps up." She unlocks the security gate across the front door, and then the door itself. "Alarm code?" she asks Auggie.

"Two…seven…one…two…hash," he rattles off. He's opening out his cane.

She enters the code into the keypad just inside the door. There are three short beeps followed by a longer one and then all goes quiet.

"All clear," she says, pulling him inside. "Let me lock up here and then we can go and find the garage."

* * *

They find the boxes of Michelle's things in the garage just as Jaco described to them. Auggie stands to one side while Annie begins riffling through them.

"Clothes...no, we don't want that one…papers and files – I'll keep that to the side…more clothes...Ah! Here you go." She stops, having found what she's looking for. Hauls a laptop bag out of the box she's just opened. Dumps it onto the workbench next to where he's standing. "Work for you, Boss," she says. She takes his hand and places it on the bag.

"Great." He immediately finds the zipper and starts opening the bag - all business. He hauls out Michelle Bouwer's MacBook. Reaches into the pouch on his arm and pulls out first his phone and then a flash drive.

She interrupts him before he can replace his phone – catches his hand. "Can I borrow that?"

He hands the phone over.

She looks at it. "How do I turn your screen on?" she asks him.

"Tell Siri to turn Voice Over off," he tells her, distractedly. He's plugged his earphones into the computer and has the earpieces in his ears.

She does just that. She pulls out all the documents she finds in the box she put aside. Adds to them a small journal she finds in a box filled with photos, some jewelry and other knick-knacks (nightstand drawer kinds of things). Begins the task of photographing them. Page by page.

Partway through her task Auggie interrupts her. "D'you mind helping me look around to see if there's a router somewhere?" he asks her.

"Sure." She stops what's she's doing. They go back into the house. In the office she spots a Wi-Fi router. It's connected to a phone socket but not switched on. She remedies that.

Auggie's brought Michelle's laptop along. Locates the desk and chair and sets himself up. Fingers his watch. "We've got about twenty minutes," he tells her, putting his earphones back in. "Think you can be done by then?"

"I'll do what I can. I'll come find you?"

"Yeah." He nods, but he's already somewhere else. Somewhere in his secret land of ones, zeros and Miles Davis code sequences.

She smiles to herself and leaves him to it.

* * *

Eighteen minutes later she has finished her work and packed everything back up. She enters the house to go and find him, only to discover he's on his way back to find her. They meet in the kitchen.

"Hey," she says.

"Hey," he replies. Crinkles his eyes at her. "I need you to come and check if I managed to successfully hide the router and laptop."

She follows him to the office. Stands with him in the doorway. Looks around at the room. "I can't see them," she tells him.

He grins at her. "Go me," he says.

"Go you," she affirms, punching him lightly on the arm. Then she goes on a thorough hunt. She finds the router on the bookshelf behind some filing boxes and the computer nearby inside a packing box that Jaco had left there. "I think that'll work," she says.

"Good," he replies. "I can get much more off her machine if I can access it remotely. Let's hope Jaco's house-sitter leaves it all alone."

"Unless he's paranoid or a thief I doubt he'll have any reason to suspect anything," she assures him.

He nods, smiling, and then checks the time. "I think we should go," he says.

* * *

At a quarter to five Auggie stations himself on the stone garden bench under, Annie informs him, an old oak tree situated conveniently near front door and on the route between the automated wooden doors of the double garage.

Annie, if all has gone according to plan will, by the time Franzina needs to leave, have temporarily jammed the lock of the front door and be waiting at her observation post a little way back from the kitchen window. Out of sight, but with binoculars trained on the keypad that Franzina will, hopefully, use in order to set the alarm on her alternative way out.

At two minutes past five Auggie hears the click of a lock and the distinctive clang of the security gate behind the front door being slid open. This is followed by the sound of a key being inserted into the lock of the main door, then removed and re-inserted. The door is rattled slightly. The key is removed again. The security gate slides shut with a muffled clang. There is no sound indicating the wooden door has been opened or shut. No footsteps indicating Franzina has exited.

Auggie rapidly sends Annie a text: "HEADS UP."

Two and a half minutes later the mechanical hum and creak of a garage door opening cuts into the tranquility of the sounds of the garden.

The door stops. The motor starts again. Rapid footsteps indicate that Franzina is having to move fast in order to duck under the door before it closes. The footsteps slow. The motor stops. The door crashes a little as it finishes closing.

The footsteps come nearer and stop. "Mister Garrett! You are still here?"

Auggie smiles. "Franzina," he says. "Sawubona! No, I came back outside. The sun is too tempting."

"Hawu!" She sounds delighted. "Ukhuluma isiZulu na?" He says a brief thank you to Google. Amazing what one can learn in five minutes. She's beautifully distracted.

He laughs. "No," he confesses. "The only things I can say in Zulu are 'Hello', 'Goodbye' and 'I'm sorry, I don't know how to speak Zulu'."

She rewards him with a rich, uninhibited laugh. "That last one is too difficult."

"It _is_!" he agrees. "By the time I've got past the click in 'Uxolo'," he struggles over the click to demonstrate, "I don't really need to say the 'angikwazi ukukhuluma isiZulu' part. They've kinda figured that already.'

She laughs again. "You just need practice," she tells him.

"A _lot_ of practice," he responds. "Are you on your way home?"

"Yes," she says. "I must run to get my bus. I'm late."

"Well, I better let you go, then." Auggie gives her a genuinely warm smile. "See you tomorrow. Hamba kahle."

"Sala kahle!" She is already moving towards the opening gate.

He waits until he hears the gate close and her footsteps fade before he directs Siri to send a second text on his behalf: "YOU CAN COME OUT NOW."

Annie joins him shortly thereafter on his bench.

"Success?" he inquires.

"Success," she affirms. "I have the code and I'm pretty sure I can get through the locks."

"Wanna try now?"

"Of course," she responds. "Do you always ask ridiculous questions?"

He huffs indignantly. She ignores him. Continues: "But I can't until a certain operative gives me the equipment I need."

He folds his arms. "A certain operative may need to be asked nicely," he informs her.

She adopts a pleading voice. "Auggie," She draws it out, "_Please_ can I have some fun toys to play with?"

He capitulates, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a bug similar to the one they had planted in Jaco's room at Otjindawa and two flash drives. He holds them out to her. "Bug first," he tells her. "Then I can talk you through the other stuff." He stands. Finds the path edge with his cane. "Text me when you're in. And make sure you have an escape route. We don't know when Christiaan is getting back." Then he adds: "Good luck."

He walks back towards the cottage.

* * *

When Annie's text message comes through he has a very useful workstation set up on the bar counter in the kitchen. He also has coffee.

"SORRY I TOOK SO LONG," the screen reader on his computer announces on Annie's behalf, "LOCKS WERE TRICKY."

He fires a text back. "NO PROB. READY TO TEST?"

"YES," comes her reply. "BUG IN."

He adjusts what he needs to on his side. "GO FOR IT," he types.

Annie's voice comes through his headset. "How do I sound?" she asks.

He laughs out loud, happiness stabbing his gut unexpectedly. _She remembers. _Her tone, her attitude, everything is the same.

He texts back the exact words he had said to her in Medellin almost a year before: "I DON'T KNOW. SAY SOMETHING DIRTY."

He is enveloped in the sound of her laughter.


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

_Thursday, June 26th, 2014_

_Johannesburg, South Africa_

The front door of the cottage closes. Annie's presence arrives in the kitchen. Auggie holds out a hand. She places into it the two flash drives and the small case in which the listening device was nestled. He packs the latter into his laptop case and then holds out the two flash drives.

"Which one did you use?"

The faucet turns on and the distinctive sound of a kettle being filled assails his ears. "The blue one," she says. She has her back to him.

He clears his throat. "I'm gonna need a bit more than that, Annie."

"Oh. Yeah," she says in an off-hand way. She has turned around. "The one in your right hand," she elaborates.

He packs the other one away, smiling a little to himself. He loves the fact that on the rare occasions she slips up, she barely apologizes. It's a refreshing change from having to deal with the effusive apologies and cringing embarrassment that tends to accompany gaffes (or perceived gaffes) by other people.

He plugs the (blue, he now knows) drive into his laptop. While he waits for the data on it to upload he listens to her making tea for herself. "So, what did you find?" he asks her.

"Lots," she says, sounding pleased. "But we'll have to see if Joan can hook us up with a bit more tech, I think."

"Lots as in what?"

"Two safes, for a start. A filing cabinet full of paperwork of various kinds. A _lot_ of photos of Christiaan du Buisson. Also _not _many signs of anyone female living here on a full-time basis, which I found interesting. Unless Leeza-the-girlfriend is into ascetism, I'd say she doesn't live here. There's not much in the way of women's clothing in the bedroom wardrobe, and only a few cosmetics in the bathroom. No pills in the nightstand..."

"You _did_ look around," he remarks, impressed. "So just the one computer?"

"Yeah. Just the desktop in the office. If he has a laptop he must have it with him."

"It's a start," he says. His MacBook emits a distinctive sound, alerting him to the fact that the upload is complete. He plugs in his headphones. Dons them. Begins having a look around. "A _good_ start," he expands. "E-mails…internet search history…accounting records…" He starts listing them as he scans the file tree. "This is gonna keep us busy enough for now."

* * *

Their 'Owen and Laura' phone rings at six thirty-five. "Christiaan du Buisson" – Voice Over mangles the name causing Annie to smile a little.

Auggie turns around, pulling his headphones down around his neck. "You take it," he tells her.

She does. "Laura speaking."

Christiaan's cultured tones ooze into her ear. "Laura! How lovely! I was expecting Owen. This is so much more pleasant."

She resists the temptation to make gagging noises. Rolls her eyes a little instead. "Do you want to speak to him?" she asks. She looks over at Auggie as she says it. He shakes his head at her.

It turns out to be unnecessary. Christiaan demurs anyway. "No, no need," he says. "I just wanted to let you know that my meeting has ended early. I'll be on my way home soon. I wondered if you'd like us to have dinner a little earlier? Perhaps I can come for you at seven?"

"That sounds good," she says. "We'll be ready by then." She so badly wants to emphasis the 'we' just to needle him again. Instead she asks sweetly: "Should we dress fancy or casual?"

"Ah," comes the reply, "I wanted to discuss that with you…"

When the call ends she disconnects and replaces the phone quite a bit harder than necessary on the counter. "Ugh," she says.

Auggie raises his eyebrows. "What?" he asks. He sounds a little amused.

"There's a great little Italian place not too far from here, he says." She mimics Christiaan's elegant tones. "'Eclectic', 'authentic', 'lovely atmosphere'…He's made a reservation there. Hopes that's OK."

"Sounds great," comments Auggie. He shrugs. "What's the problem? Why'd the phone get it?"

"Oh, he'd have liked to have taken us somewhere fancier…" She's livid. Knows she's not managing to successfully keep it completely out of her voice. He's frowning quizzically at her…"But apparently he thought pizza would be 'easier for you.'"

Auggie, damn the man, bursts out laughing.

* * *

She's drying her hair when he emerges from the bathroom. Jeans, but no shirt. He's toweling his hair.

_God, but he's beautiful._

She catches herself. Catches the thought. Carefully pushes it away to somewhere safe. Switches off the dryer.

He's walked over to the wardrobe and opened it.

"I'm kinda glad Christiaan said casual," Auggie comments, pulling out a t-shirt. "I packed jeans, jeans and jeans. And some t-shirts. Definitely no designer dresses."

She laughs. "Not very prepared of you," she teases. "You're obviously not such a great Boy Scout after all."

He's examining the neckband of the t-shirt in his hands. Frowning. "Shit." he mutters.

"What?" she asks.

"Lost a tag," he tells her. He holds up the shirt. "Is this grey or black?"

"Khaki," she tells him.

He throws it at her.

* * *

Christiaan has, rather unexpectedly, chosen to bring his girlfriend along.

_Two birds with one stone, _Annie thinks as she slides into the back seat of Christiaan's BMW after Auggie. This will save them time.

Leeza Ford is younger than Annie had expected – twenty-six or twenty-seven to Christiaan's thirty-five, Annie guesses. That's only on close scrutiny, though - at a quick glance she seems even younger than that. She's doll-like, petite and very pretty with ringlets of blonde hair, and large brown eyes. The perfect accessory for the arresting figure that is Christiaan du Buisson. The two of them must turn heads wherever they go.

When Christiaan introduces Leeza to them, Auggie, in stark contrast to his behavior when introduced to Christiaan, reaches forward between the two front seats to offer her his hand. When Leeza takes it he adds his other hand and gives her an affectionate double-handed shake. He adds one of his irresistibly disarming crinkly-eyed smiles.

It works like a charm - classic Auggie-magic. Leeza Ford is entranced - dimpling at him, tilting her head coyly. Annie steals a glance at Christiaan. He is watching his girlfriend. Watching Auggie. His face is expressionless, but a muscle twitches slightly in his jaw. Apparently he has no qualms about moving into Owen Garrett's territory, but he's not enamored at the idea of Owen Garrett moving into his.

When Christiaan starts the car, Auggie leans back into his seat and casually reaches across to find Annie's knee. He gives it a quick double squeeze. He has a slight smile on his face – corners of his mouth turned down slowly. Satisfied with himself.

Battle has commenced.

* * *

Modo Mio really is as Christiaan described it, Annie has to give him that.

It's situated in an obscure and unexpected, almost hidden, little shopping center off a busy main road and looks very unprepossessing from the outside. In fact it doesn't look like a restaurant at all – more like a kind of canvas-covered lean-to extending out into the parking lot.

Once they duck inside, though, it reveals itself to be an intimate, warm, vibrant, beautiful little trattoria – full of people and buzz and _smells._ It really could have been lifted right out of some little Italian town and dropped into the heart of Joburg's Northern suburbs.

"It's always crowded," Christiaan tells them. "One usually has to book well in advance." He shoots Annie a little look. "Luckily I have connections. They were willing to squeeze us in." He flashes a white, even-toothed smile at her. She nods and smiles back, trying not to make it too obvious that her teeth are clenched at the same time.

They are led by a waiter to their table. Christiaan's not wrong about the crowdedness. They have to squeeze between tables, ask people to move their chairs (which isn't simple as the combination of music and conversational buzz in the tiny area makes it difficult to make oneself heard) and dodge around waiters. When she and Auggie have finally fought their way through Christiaan is already there – watching their slow progress impatiently. Leeza isn't yet, though. For some unfathomable reason, she disappeared towards the kitchen when they first arrived, and hasn't returned yet.

Their table is right in the center of all the bustle. "Round. Four seats at north, south, east and west." she tells Auggie. "Big enough to allow for pairing off, I think." She has to speak almost into his ear.

He smiles at that. "Where are you sitting?" She shows Auggie a chair. He begins to pull it for her.

Christiaan, on their left, as if unaware, immediately proceeds to make a great show of pulling out the chair next to that one and ushering her into it. "Here you are, Laura. Would you like to sit here?" It's done almost with a bow. He then seats himself next to her on the opposite side to where Auggie is still standing.

Auggie has said nothing, betrayed nothing. He hasn't continued to pull out the chair which, it seems, Christiaan has decided is his. Instead, he is very slowly folding his cane. He puts it in his bag. Sets the bag down on the floor to the right of his chair. Scouts the edge of the table with the back of his hand. Annie gets the distinct impression he's marking time.

Leeza arrives – announces herself with a cheery "I'm here." Immediately, wordlessly, and with a smile for her, Auggie finds the chair on his right and pulls it out for her. She smiles. Thanks him with a hand on his arm. Seats herself.

_Strike, counterstrike._

The waiter arrives with menus and to take drinks orders. Christiaan takes charge. "I think wine, if everyone's all right with that?" He has raised his voice a little in order make sure he's heard. Annie tells him that would be lovely. He doesn't bother to wait for Auggie or Leeza's responses. Just asks Annie: "Red or white for you?"

"Red for me," she tells him.

"And Owen. What does he like?"

"Owen likes red too," says Auggie from over the table in a perfectly friendly way – the smile lines at the corners of his mouth and around his eyes have deepened. Two high points of color appear on Christiaan's cheeks, though. He hadn't thought he'd be heard, apparently. He is not happy at having been shown up.

Christiaan retaliates by making a unilateral decision on the particular wine they will be drinking and flirting outrageously with Annie while they wait for the wine. Auggie acts as though he is completely unaware of what he is doing. Christiaan escalates the flirting. Annie – despite the somewhat unpleasant task of having to court Christiaans advances – starts to enjoy herself.

The wine arrives. Christiaan samples it. Declares it suitable. Their waiter pours it out. Annie swirls it in her glass. Sniffs it delicately. Takes a sip. "What do you think?" Christiaan asks her.

She doesn't have to lie. "Gorgeous," she tells him. She's watching Auggie and Leeza out of the corner of her eye. Auggie is speaking to their waiter as the man pours his wine. Asking him something – she catches the words 'menu' and 'braille'. The waiter answers, shaking his head. Leeza leans over and puts her hand on Auggie's arm. Says something to him to which he responds, smiling at her.

"We really know how to make wine in South Africa," Christiaan is informing her. "Personally I think we produce the world's best. And I've traveled quite a bit, so I'vetasted a lot of wine." Another gleaming smile. And a wink this time. "This one's not cheap," he continues, "but it's so fabulous. I really wanted you to taste it. Actually, the estate on which it was made is owned by a close friend of mine. Beautiful place."

He trails off. He has suddenly noticed what's happening across the table. Leeza and Auggie are sitting with their heads bent together, a menu held up in front of them. Leeza, it seems, is reading the menu to Auggie. He has moved his chair closer to hers and is leaning towards her so he can hear her clearly over the ambient noise.

It's been so brilliantly played by Auggie. He's left Christiaan with absolutely no room to maneuver. If he says anything, or interrupts in any way, not only will he be being ill-mannered, but he will also be denying a blind man the chance to find out what's available for dinner.

_Another win for Owen Garrett._

She finds herself wanting to high-five someone.

Instead she starts with an attack of her own.

She touches Christiaan's arm lightly. His gaze swings back to her. She gives him a somewhat desperate look. "I'm completely overwhelmed." She waves her hand at her menu. Tinkles a little laugh. "This all looks amazing. I have _no_ idea what to order," she says. She looks at him with wide open eyes. "Help." She laughs. "You _obviously_ know this place and you _obviously_ know your food." She looks at him from under slightly lowered lashes. "What shouldn't I miss?"

And that's all it takes. Now that he's the center of her attention again, he gives her his. _Flattery will get you everywhere with this one, Annie Walker, _she notes to herself. It may leave a nasty taste in her mouth, but it's so, so easily done. And he's so, so vulnerable to it.

Once their orders have been taken, Auggie interrupts her and Christiaan's conversation by tapping her on the arm. "Sorry to interrupt, Laura," he says, "but could you point me in the direction of the men's room?"

Annie pushes back her chair. "I'll come with you," she offers. Knowing that's exactly what he wants her to do. "It's an obstacle course out there." He knows that. Knows she knows he does. "Anyway, I wouldn't mind freshening up myself."

"Thanks." Auggie reaches down for his folded cane and stands up too. She offers him her elbow. Steals a glance at Christiaan. The expression on his face is again one of only partially masked disdain.

The bathrooms, conveniently for them, are accessed from the parking lot and thus hidden from the view of those inside the restaurant. This, Annie guesses, is exactly what Auggie had been hoping for. As soon as they're outside she pulls him around a corner, out of view, and stops him. Turns him to face her. "What d'you wanna talk about?" she asks him.

"What makes you think I wanna talk?" His expression is completely ingenuous. "I could, you know, actually need to go to the bathroom."

"Oh, you'd have asked Leeza, then," she states. "That would have gotten Christiaan all riled up…which, you're doing really well, by the way," she adds as an aside. "He is _not _happy with you…" She gets back to her original point. "Anyway, if I wasn't already sure this was a ploy, that innocent face of yours would have convinced me."

"I'm wounded." He holds a hand to his heart.

"No, you're not. But you _are_ wasting time," she remonstrates, stabbing him in the chest with a finger. "Get on with it."

He rolls his eyes for her benefit, but then folds his arms over his chest and turns serious. "Couple of things," he says. "Firstly, would you be able to handle the interview part of tonight on your own? Let him write me off as irrelevant. Distract him with that. I'll see what I can get out of Leeza"

"Sure," she says. "Shouldn't be a problem. I just have to bolster his ego, a _lot_, and he's all mine." She pauses. "What's with him bringing her along anyway? He's said about three words to her all night."

"Dunno. To distract me from you? "

"Hmm…" She's not convinced. "If his reaction every time he sees you two getting a bit close together is anything to go by, that's not it."

"Ah, well." Auggie just smiles. "Make the most of it, Laura Pritchard," he says. "You should be flattered. I hear he's _gorgeous_." Gives her a wink. She whacks him.

"You haven't exactly struck out, you know," she informs him. "Leeza's really beautiful."

"And, she's actually a nice person. I've got it better than you." He smirks. Looks extremely smug.

She doesn't grace that with any kind of response.

"Seriously, though." he gets back to business. "Give Christiaan a way to get back at me. Jealousy, revenge – all powerful motivators. Pull him in. The more you two pair off the safer Leeza's gonna to feel about talking to me.

"You got it. Anything else, Boss?"

He rolls his eyes. "Have you managed to get a look at what kind of phone he has yet?"

"Yeah. iPhone 5 or 5s. He's got an iPad with him too."

"Perfect." He looks pleased. He unfolds his arms and begins opening out his cane. "Listen," he says. "See if you can take a selfie with him, will you? But don't send it to him yet. I need something I can hide behind to get into his phone. I reckon that should do the trick." He thumps his cane onto the ground a couple of times to lock the joints into place then holds out a hand to her. "Shall we go?"

She inserts her upper arm into his hand. "Which way?" she inquires. "Are we actually going to go to the bathrooms or do you just want to go straight back inside?"

* * *

As they return from the bathrooms, Auggie deliberately holds his cane at more of an angle than usual which has it catching on chair legs and people's feet all the way through the little restaurant. Annie, to her credit, takes it in her stride - acting as if this is all perfectly normal. She gets him back to their seat and this time he pulls out her chair for her before Christiaan can jump to his feet and do it again. He sits then, folding up his cane as he does and tucking it back into the messenger bag at his feet. "Hello," he says to Leeza, smiling.

"Hello," she says back. "You're just in time for food." He can tell she's returning the smile.

Their starters have arrived while they've been gone – Christiaan had ordered an antipasto platter for them to share and he plays host – topping up everyone's wine, and ordering Leeza to dish up a selection for Auggie.

After a little small-talk, Annie starts subtly monopolizing Christiaan again and skilfully begins to steer their conversation towards Christiaan's conservation and charity work. Laura Pritchard apparently finds that aspect of him particularly fascinating, and she wants to write about it (and him) in her article. "Do you mind if I record this?" she asks him. Auggie hears her chair scrape as she scoots it away from him and towards Christiaan. "We have to make sure my phone catches everything," he hears her say. "I really don't want to miss a word."

Auggie and Leeza are soon cut out of the conversation almost entirely. He begins to make his own move. Turning towards her and speaking softly enough that she has to bend towards him to hear her he comments: "Christiaan and Laura seem to be getting on well."

"That's Christiaan for you," she says equally quietly but with a little laugh. "He's got a way with women. It's just how he is. Don't let it bother you."

He frowns at her. Says gravely: "Doesn't it bother _you_?"

"It used to, but I've become used to it now. I know he doesn't mean it. It's just how he is. I'm just happy to be the one he's chosen." She laughs again. There's a slight brittleness about it, though. Auggie's not convinced she's as OK with it as she says.

"How long have you two been together?" he asks. He turns in his seat so he's facing her more directly. Making it harder for Christiaan to accidentally overhear them, and hopefully making Leeza feel safer as a result. He certainly can't hear much of what Annie and Christiaan are talking about.

"Just over two and a half years," she answers. "Although we did go out before for about six months a long time before that. Around the time Jaco and Michelle started the practice. It's how I got the job there."

"I wanted to ask about that, actually." Auggie has finished his starter. Lays down his fork. He keeps his voice low. "It just seems weird to me that you're still working there," he admits. Pauses. "I hope I'm not being too forward," he says to her, "but here you are in a serious relationship with this super-rich boyfriend, Laura tells me you're really pretty, stylish…I dunno…Just seems like a strange choice. Surely Christiaan could find you something more glamorous?"

"I'm not sure, really," She sounds thoughtful, as if she hasn't really considered this before. "A few reasons, I suppose."

He waits. Gives her a chance to elaborate.

She does. "I'm an actress, actually," she tells him. "Jaco's is supposed to be just a secondary job."

"So you actually _do_ have a glamorous job. I hadn't realized."

Leeza laughs. "Maybe I should be honest and say I'm an acting hopeful. There's so little work available and the competition is massive – Christiaan got the job for me so I could support myself in the early days –and I guess it's been so convenient I've stayed. It's like my version of the classic waitressing job, I suppose." She laughs lightly again. "Anyway, Christiaan has encouraged me to stay on there. It's good, stable work." She sighs a little. Is there something underneath that sigh? "Anyway, Jaco's fabulous – really flexible, so if I have an audition or get a bit of work he's very accommodating. He trusts me to get the work done. And I do."

Auggie smiles at her, crinkling his eyes. "You sound like you really enjoy it."

"I do," she says. "I love being organized and organizing things. I like feeling useful. Jaco is away a lot and so busy he never gets much time for admin and Trix – the other vet there – is lovely, but completely scatty. So I'm needed."

"You are." Auggie takes a change and scouts the table for her hand. Finds her forearm. _Good enough. _He puts his hand over it and squeezes gently. Lets it go again. "Jaco talks about you, you know. Says they'd be lost without you."

"He does?" There's genuine surprise in her voice. Auggie gets the feeling that Leeza Ford doesn't get to hear a lot of praise.

"He does. He said that to me just this week," Auggie tells her. "And I hadn't even met you yet."

Annie and Christiaan must really be in their own little world, because she seems to be willing to risk telling Auggie a lot. She speaks confidentially to him, soft enough to be inaudible to the everyone else underneath all the restaurant noise. But she speaks. It's as if Leeza has been waiting for someone to really listen to her for a long, long while.

By the end of the evening Auggie has found out all about Christiaan's and Leeza's relationship: the seriousness of it ("he's going to ask me to marry soon, but Christiaan's just waiting for a few things to settle"), the nature of it ("we don't live together because Christiaan doesn't think that's right until we're engaged") and the quality of it ("he's not a bad guy, really. He can be a bit cross sometimes, things _upset_ him, you know. But he always makes up to me afterwards. Says sorry. Tells me he loves me. Takes me somewhere nice, or buys me something.")

There's something in her tone that worries Auggie. A lot. "Leeza," he says. He's very earnest. "Has he ever hit you?" He's said it carefully - wanting to be discreet, wanting to make sure they are not overheard. Wanting her to be able to answer honestly.

"_No!_" It's said in a shocked whisper. "Nothing like that. He just shouts. Says awful things to me, about me, sometimes when he's upset. But he really doesn't mean them."

Auggie sits back a little. Psychological abuse is bad enough.

Across the table he can hear Annie doing her job – flirting, flattering, fluffing Christiaan's ego. They have moved on from rhinos to Christiaan's job (something involving large amounts of money, investments and wheeler-dealing), to world travel (Christiaan seems to have travelled everywhere and met people of importance on every trip), to cars ("A sixty-seven Corvette? Really?...So unusual to find a woman who knows her cars…who 'gets' them...you're a bit wasted on someone like Owen, aren't you?")

Auggie notes that comments like that last one tend to drift across the table more than any other kind of talk. The fact that Owen and Leeza are enjoying each other's company is apparently not going entirely unnoticed.

It's not an unpleasant evening for Auggie. In addition to his informative, and enjoyable, conversation with Leeza, the food really is excellent - he's ordered a gourmet-style pizza (so as not to disillusion Christiaan). So is the wine. He says as much to Leeza. "Oh," she says, "I'll pass that on. My cousin is one of the two managers here. That's why we always get a table." _Ah. _So that's 'Christiaan's 'connection'. Not his after all, but Leeza's, although he's quite willing to take the credit. Auggie suspects he has probably discerned the reason Leeza was invited to come along.

Somewhere during the evening he hears Annie's instruction to Christiaan to "Smile for the camera." There is laughter from the other side of the table. "No," says Annie's voice. "You blinked. Try again." _Attagirl. _He's going to get his piggyback ride onto Christiaan du Buisson's cell phone. She's a wonder, his Annie.

After dinner, as Annie walks him to the car, Christiaan finally having decided to reclaim Leeza, he realizes he is feeling satisfied on several levels. Mission-wise they've gained a lot. Subterfuge-wise, the same. But there's more than that – he feels as though he's won a skirmish. A battle of wits. Christiaan du Buisson may not know it yet, but Annie does. And that's all that counts.

In the back seat of the car Annie bumps a hand surreptitiously against his thigh. He feels for it – discovers she is discreetly giving him the thumbs up.

He gives her hand a quick pat, and then leans over between the two front seats. "Thank you for a really great evening," he says.

He means every word.


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

_Thursday June 26__th__, 2014_

_Johannesburg, South Africa_

She's so tired. She says as much to Auggie as she collapses onto the small couch in the living-room area of the cottage.

"You have two options," he tells her mercilessly, "coffee or a twenty minute power-nap. We have a long night ahead of us."

"I know, I know," she sighs. "Then it's coffee, I guess. If I lie down now I'm not going to wake up again."

"Excellent choice. Make it a big pot, will you?" He grins at her. His super-charming, innocently angelic grin. She sighs even more heavily. A protest this time. Gets back up again and heads into the kitchen, deliberately jostling him as she brushes past him. He is sitting at his computer at the counter that separates the kitchen and living areas.

She crosses over to the opposite counter and gets the coffee brewing. Comes back to lean over Auggie's shoulder. "Whatcha doing?" she asks.

"Just tweaking something," he tells. "In fact," he pulls down his headphones, "just _finished_ tweaking something." He holds out his hand to her. "Where's that photo you took?"

She crosses back to the sofa where she'd dumped her purse on arrival and retrieves her iPad from inside it back over to Auggie. He connects it to his MacBook. She goes to check the progress of the coffee.

He calls her back. "Are these them?" he asks.

She looks across. He's in the way of the screen. She can't see. "Lean to your left," she says. He does. Three photos are displayed side by side on the screen. "The second and third are," she says. "The first one too, actually, but Christiaan blinked."

"So which one are we gonna send?"

"Hmm…" She ponders that briefly. Looks carefully. "In the first one," she tells him modestly, "I look great and he looks OK. In the second, I look OK but he looks amazing."

Auggie tilts up the corners of his mouth. "So I'm guessing the second, then," he says.

He dons his earphones again, cutting her out. Turning back around, she finishes making their coffee. She walks over with his mug and puts it on the counter.

"Two o'clock," she says.

"Huh?" He hits a key on his keyboard and looks up.

"Coffee," she repeats. "Two o'clock."

"Oh." He tracks a hand across the counter, finds it. "Thanks." Doesn't pick it up, though. Repositions his headphones. "Almost done here," he tells her. He attacks his keyboard again.

Annie watches him across the little kitchen. Leans back against the counter, smiling a little to herself - fascinated, as always, by how completely engrossed he is. _Auggie in the Auggie-zone. _

She sips her coffee and mulls over her earlier conversation with Christiaan, trying to sort out the relevant from the irrelevant - to find patterns, connections. Auggie, when he's done with…whatever it is he's doing…is going to want a report.

So, for that matter, is she.

It's only a few minutes later that her ruminations are interrupted by a satisfied-sounding final smack of a key and Auggie's "There. That should do it."

She looks up. Auggie is locating his coffee. He grabs it and takes a sip, turning around on his bar stool as he does so. "Where are you, Miss Walker?"

"Here."

He swings his head round to face her.

"You," he informs her smugly, "are in the presence of genius." He is a searching behind him with his free hand for her iPad. He finds it, grabs it and holds it out to her.

"Not news to me," she replies, taking it from him, "but I'm assuming you have a particular reason for reminding me now."

"I do." He has turned around to face her fully now, small of his back pressed against the counter, his coffee mug cradled in both hands. "I think it's time you sent that photo to Christiaan."

She does so, attaching the photo to a text message saying: "Not often that work is so much fun. Thanks for everything."

"Done," she tells him. "What did I do?"

"_We_," he says, "just installed a roving bug onto his phone – which means that it has now become a covert listening device for our benefit." He looks so pleased with himself. "It's gonna cause his battery to drain fast, though. Fortunately, however, he will be notified of an iOS upgrade to fix that."

"Will it?" She's playing straight man now. Feeding him his lines.

"No. It won't. Instead it will install the August Anderson version of FinFisher." He announces that as if he's introducing the leading act at some kind of magic show. She can almost hear the drum roll and the 'Ta-da'.

She hates to kill the build-up, but she has to. "I have no idea what you just said. Could you try English?"

"In English," he says slowly, with exaggerated patience, "it will give us access to his phone, his Apple ID, his iTunes and any other devices he connects with that. Technological sleight of hand."

"August Anderson," she announces. "Wizard extraordinaire."

He acknowledges that with a grin and a bow.

* * *

They arm themselves with fresh coffee and move back to the living room. She has informed him that she has revived and has reassured him that she does not need to torture her backside with a hard barstool all night in order to stay awake.

The direction that her satisfied flop and sigh come to him from indicates that he will be taking the armchair for the night – Annie having commandeered the couch.

While he's repositioning the coffee table, relocating his equipment and setting up his new makeshift workstation the way he wants it, she gives him an overview of her interview with Christiaan.

"The charity centers around raising funds in order to provide specific anti-poaching training to park rangers and security guards – hence the name 'RhinoForce.' They do the advertising, publicity events, campaigning and so on, but they don't do the actual training. They outsource that."

"Outsource to who?"

"Some company in Hoedspruit. Near the Kruger Park. I tried to get a specific name out of him but he was evasive. I didn't want to push it - it would make me look suspicious. I figured you could probably find out, anyway."

He looks up at her from where he's setting his laptop on the coffee table. "Yeah, I probably can," he tells her, nonchalantly. Waves the computer's power supply cable at her. "Can you see somewhere I can plug this in?"

"Yeah. Wall behind you. Just to the right of your chair," she says. "Low down. Shin level." He turns round to try and locate the socket. Does. Plugs the cable in. She continues. "That evasiveness made me suspicious, actually. Made me think how convenient it would be to have access to trainee rhino guards if you were in league with poachers - find guys you can pay off to give you information on locations of rhinos they're guarding…"

It's a good point. He'll prioritize looking for that company. He tells Annie as much.

"Christiaan himself?" he moves the conversation on. "What's your take on him?"

"Risk taker, definitely. Likes to live on the edge."She's giving him the salient points. Not wasting time. "He's into property development – big contracts - high investment with hopes of high returns. The kind of thing where if it goes belly-up you can end up in deep shit." She pauses. "And his lifestyle isn't cheap. Expensive clothes, expensive cars, expensive vacations…and expensive friends. He mixes with the 'cool' crowd – I didn't know too many of the people he mentioned, but it was clear he was name-dropping. Lots of South African celebs, I'm guessing. So he has an image to maintain."

"How much of all that is true, though, d'you think? How many of those people does he actually know?"

"Hmm…hard to tell. He's such an egotist, center of his own universe, full of himself. I tell you what, Auggie, he could tick more than a few criteria boxes in the DSM-5 – definitely a narcissist and some sociopathic tendencies too, I suspect…So yeah, maybe he's a wannabe. Maybe not. A pretty face can get you far in those kinds of circles." She's mulling it over. Processing out loud. Voice full of thought.

"Fantasy or fact, though," he comments, "he's gonna be spending big money to maintain the image. I'll have a hunt around tonight, but we're probably going to have to try and get a financial audit on him, I think. Let's talk to Joan. See what she can organize. Anything else?"

"Not much that feels important, really," she says. "I think he knows how to use his charm to get what he wants. He's a manipulator, though, so he's probably not above using other means to keep what he wants…threats, blackmail…"

The workstation is set up, now. He sits down and leans back into the armchair. Gets comfortable. "I think he's doing that with Leeza," he says to Annie. "He's got an emotional hold on her, but he's also very cleverly made her dependent on him money-wise too. She leaves him, all she's got is her job at Jaco's. And Christiaan got that job for her. He can easily make her believe he can get her fired. Especially if she's been skimming M99 from the practice for him."

"You think she has?"

"Yeah," he sighs. "I do." He wishes he didn't. He really likes her. A genuinely sweet person. But she's gotten herself all tangled up with the wrong guy. "She's vulnerable to him. I get the impression he messes her around a lot, but she spent a lot of time tonight defending him to me…" He can feel his mouth has pulled into a grim line. "He's stringing her along with promises of marriage…I think she believes him because she's desperate to…" He stops as a thought hits him. "Maybe there's also a bit of ambition there, too," he admits. He feels sad about that for some reason. "She wants to be an actress, he moves in those circles…" He shrugs. "Maybe he's made promises to her about that too…"

"Kinda sad," says Annie.

_Yeah._

* * *

They set to work – Auggie rifling briefly through Michelle's computer, Annie starting to go through all the photos of Michelle's paperwork that he's moved from his phone onto her iPad for her.

Twenty minutes into his explorations the bug in Annie planted in the house feeds back a noise to him. Christiaan is in his office.

He doesn't, though, as Auggie is hoping, switch on his desktop.

He does something even better. He makes a phone-call.

It is picked up by both Christiaan's now-activated iPhone microphone and the listening device in the office. Auggie mutes the latter one. If Christiaan decides to move around, the roving bug will be better. He pulls out his earphones, allowing the sound to emit through the speakers of his laptop. Calls Annie over.

The conversation is in Afrikaans but Annie does her best – giving him what she's managing to pick up.

"...He's saying something about tonight, I think…dinner…"

"…'I don't think there's a problem'…" She's translated that directly for him. "…'Yes, I'm sure…the man is _blind'_…"

An aside: "He's laughing about that, Auggie." She hates him for that. He can tell. Her voice is full of outrage. He smiles.

"...Now he's talking about me…I didn't ask any suspicious questions, apparently…"

"…Oh, and I fell for him, he says…" He imagines she's accompanying that statement with a raised eyebrow - the contempt in her voice certainly seems to indicate that.

"…he says we're flying back to America on Saturday…before everything...something or other. Didn't get that."

_Not any more, we aren't. _Auggie has made an on-the-spot, executive decision.

"…'Yes…in my safe…I'll bring them up with me on the weekend.'…" She's translating directly again.

"…'Jaco's coming on Sunday, as we arranged'…"

_And so are the blind guy and the unsuspicious blonde._

"…'Don't worry'…" She stops abruptly. "Oh, Auggie, he just called whoever it was 'Liefie'. That means 'Darling'."

And that's it. The phone call ends with affectionate greetings and a promise to see whomever's on the other end on Saturday.

"Well," says Annie. "I think we've found our guy."

_The bastard, _thinks Auggie. _Poor Leeza_.

Christiaan at least does one thing for Auggie, though. When Leeza comes to the door to plead with him: "Baby, I'm really sorry. Please don't be cross. Come to bed now," he switches on his desktop, syncs his phone and starts downloading the new 'iOS upgrade' before he follows her upstairs.

* * *

They have direction, now. They put in a call to Langley with a shopping list of requests: an audit on Christiaan; one or two pieces of equipment; a proper translation of the phone call.

Langley, in return, lets them know they'll be sending them the protocol for their meeting the next day with the young operative from the Joburg station.

Auggie leaves Michelle's computer for now, concentrating on Christiaan's. Looking for names – a name really; evidence of financial trouble; anything that might make the picture clearer. Scouring the internet, too, for connections.

He finds something. "The security company is called King Security," he tells Annie "And I'm thinking Christiaan is doing more than just outsourcing work to them. It's owned by a woman named Karola King – widow of Ewald King - and now owner of a string of her late husband's companies: the security company, a funeral services company, a slaughterhouse…They share an accountant…Karola and Christiaan…their businesses do…and there are connections…certain things needed for tax purposes and business registrations…they leave ghost trails…"

"You think Karola is 'Liefie'?"

"Maybe. It's possible." He sighs. "I've just got nothing here in the way of hard evidence yet. Christiaan's been very careful. There's nothing on his desktop of a personal nature and he's kept everything very separate here, business and charity-wise." He's a little frustrated by that, but there's still so much more to go through. More to come.

"Maybe you'll find something on his phone? His iPad?" Annie must have picked up on his frustration. He smiles at her attempt to cheer him up.

"Maybe," he agrees. "I'll drop a line to Joan, too. Get them to look into this Karola woman for us. See if they can scare up something."

They top up on coffee. Auggie dons headphones again. Resumes digging. Finds more ghostly trails. A picture is definitely starting to emerge.

It's Annie who produces the next interruption. "Auggie," she says. "I think I've found something."

He pauses what he's doing. Pulls his headphones off, laying them down on the table next to his laptop. Giving her his full attention.

"Remember that little notebook I told you about? That I found with Michelle's things?"

"Yeah?" He does.

"Looks like she used it as a kind of memo book – names of shops, products, little quotes, gift lists, shopping lists, that kind of thing…but on one of the pages near the end there was just a list of dates – no notes with them – stretching back about six months before she died…"

"OK." He nods, encouraging her to go on. Presuming there's something coming.

"Well," she continues: "I just found a bunch of copies of invoices from a company called Big Five Pharmaceuticals. All matching those dates." She pauses. "Those invoices were stamped 'copy', Auggie. She'd specifically requested copies. Wanna guess what they were invoices for?"

Auggie's already there. "M99."

"Yep." She's not done yet. Auggie can hear it. Can hear the anticipation under the word.

"What else, Walker?" He grins at her.

"There were copies of prescriptions, too. Written by Jaco. For M99. All dated for those dates or the day before. All for four bottles. "

"That's a lot of M99," he comments.

"I know." She's fired up now. "I think she found something, Auggie. I think she found something just before she died. "

"You think it got her killed?"

"Let's just say I think the timing's suspicious."

He agrees with her.

"I think we'd better not wait till Saturday to get into Jaco's practice system," he says to her. "I'll call him in the morning. See if he can get me in there first thing. Before we rendezvous with Joburg."

"OK," she says. "Sounds good." She's caught herself mid-yawn.

Suddenly he's feeling very tired too. He leans back into the chair. Checks the time. Three thirteen a.m. "Dunno about you, Walker, but I'm done," he stretches out, hands behind his head. Yawns. "Wanna get a couple of hours before we call Jaco?"

"Oh, yeah." She sounds very, very relieved. He laughs at her.

They're both so exhausted the question of the twin beds doesn't even come up. They each collapse into their own.

Auggie falls asleep trying to decide whether what he's feeling is relief or disappointment.


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25**

_Friday June 27__th__, 2014_

_Johannesburg, South Africa._

Auggie calls Jaco at six thirty a.m. South African time (which makes it five thirty Jaco's time). He feels a little bad, but suspects the man will forgive him.

It turns out Jaco is already awake. "Owen." His voice is warm. Auggie smiles in response. It's great to hear him again.

Auggie gives him a quick overview of what they've found. Of what he needs.

"None of that should be a problem," he says to Auggie. "Leeza only comes in this afternoon so I'll ask Theresa to sort you out this morning. Can you get there just after eight? I'll get back to you about the rest of it."

His words are pragmatic but despite the man's efforts to keep his tone that way there is a deep undercurrent of sorrow.

It is clear to Auggie that Jaco understands the implications of what has been said.

* * *

Annie and Auggie take the half-hour walk to Jaco's practice. It is five minutes past eight when Annie walks him to the front entrance of the veterinary hospital.

"Two steps up, security gate across the door, doorbell on the doorframe on the right," she says. She reaches up to give him a peck on the cheek. "I'm off," she says. "See you later?"

"Yep." He winks at her. "Be good."

Annie is planning on walking across to Jaco and Michelle's house. She needs to disconnect and remove Michelle's laptop from where Auggie had hidden it and return it to the garage. She also needs to retrieve the hard copies of the invoices, prescriptions and notebook.

Auggie walks. Finds the steps, the gate. The bell. Rings it. There's a buzz. A woman's voice emerges from inside. "You can just push the gate," she says. He does. Walks forward and to the left in the direction from which her voice had come. His cane finds the base of a counter. His hand finds the top.

"Good morning," she says, brightly. "How can I help you?"

"Hi." He smiles. "I'm Owen Garrett. Jaco's friend. I've come to look at the computers for him?"

"Oh. Yes." The receptionist sounds as if she has solved a personal mystery. "Doctor Purdon said you were coming. But she's with a patient now. Do you want to sit down and wait for her? There are chairs behind you."

"Thanks." He makes a one-eighty. Three or so paces across the floor he finds the edge of a plastic chair - the same kind found in waiting rooms the world over.

He hasn't been inside a veterinary clinic for a long time. There's an odd mix of sound and smell. Muffled dog barks and the rattling of metal cages come from somewhere deeper inside the building. The squawking and scratching of a parrot (or something similar) diffuses through the waiting-room. _Patient or resident? _The smell of disinfectant mixes with the somewhat more comfortable, savory smell of pet food.

A door opens followed by panting, the clicking of claws on tile and a vibrant, deep, woman's voice. "Just keep that bucket on his head, Mrs. Jackson. Otherwise he's going to bite those stitches out…and then you'll have to come visit me again, won't you, Harvey?" The voice has changed. Affectionate baby-talk. There's the sound of vigorous petting, and responsive tail-thumping. Auggie can't help but grin.

"Doctor Bouwer's friend is here, Doctor Purdon." It's the receptionist's again.

"Aha, Nthabi! So he is." Footsteps approach. They stop. "Hello," she says. She's short. Her voice isn't coming from very far above him at all - and he's still sitting down. It's a warm voice - full of some kind of secret amusement. "You're Owen." It's a statement.

"Yes," he says. He stands. Holds out a hand. Smiles at her. "Hi."

His hand is shaken vigorously by a strong but very petite hand. Jaco's assistant's big voice belies her tiny frame. There's a pause. He gets the distinct impression he's being scrutinized.

She delivers her verdict. "Bloody hell," she says, drawing it out. "You're a gorgeous specimen, aren't you?"

He laughs.

* * *

Doctor Theresa Purdon is a loud, irreverent, refreshing delight. She is also in the process of escorting him to the practice office.

"You can call me Trix," she informs him. "If you call me Theresa I very likely won't respond. It's not that I don't like it, but more that I forget that it's my name. No one except Jaco manages to get me to remember. I think that's because he's my boss. I'd probably answer if he called me Prudence."

"Trix?" He's curious. "I haven't heard 'Theresa' shortened like that before."

"Oh, it's not short for 'Theresa'. It's short for Trixie-Pixie." She sighs. "I'm afraid that's what happens when you're five foot nothing tall, half a foot wide and have freckles and ears that stick out. You never outgrow your childhood nickname. I've been Trixie-Pixie for as long as I remember. I'm going to be a little wrinkled, grey Trixie-Pixie."

"Cute," he says.

"Thanks," she says promptly. "So are you." She's as quick as a whip with the repartee, this one. He loves it.

"We're here." She stops. Opens a door. "Oh, buggerty-buggerty-bugger," she says with emphasis. She doesn't move forward. Instead she removes his hand from her elbow and places it on a door frame. "Here," she instructs. "Wait. Or you'll end up with a broken neck. I've left crap everywhere. And I mean _everywhere._"

There's a whirlwind of paper shuffling, drawers opening and closing and other unidentifiable bangs, thumps and scrapes. "I am _the _most accomplished of slobs," she says. "I trash Leeza's beautiful office within twenty minutes every morning. How she puts up with me I don't know. Maybe because I'm so good at it it's almost a superpower."

"If it's a talent, you should be proud of it," he tells her. He's rather enjoying the sound of the chaos.

"I am," she tells him. "Usually," she amends. "Just not when I have to park beautiful men in doorways because of it. It doesn't create a good impression."

The tornado subsides. Trix returns. Gives him her arm

"Right. You'll probably just about be able to escape with your life now. Here's the chair." She places her hand on it so he can locate it. "That Bloody Machine, as I fondly call it, is on the desk in front of you. I can supply coffee and brief moments of entertainment. The rest is your baby. I fix living things, break mechanical ones. That's just a fact of life. Cosmic balance and all that. You really don't want me to come too close. Just take my word for it." She has barely taken a breath, but now she pauses.

Auggie takes a seat and aims a grin at her. He doesn't have to tilt his head up very far. "Coffee would be great," he says. She vanishes.

He pulls out a small pen drive which he inserts into a USB port – a quick plug-in-and-go screen-reader that will get him through the installation of his more comprehensive software. He finds another open USB port into which he plugs an external hard drive. Then he finds the port for his headphones. He begins to get to work.

Trix returns accompanied by the aroma of really good coffee.

He pulls his headphones down around his neck. "Smells good." He makes appreciative noises.

"I know,' she says. "I made it a condition of my employment that decent coffee must be available at all times. Failure constitutes breach of contract."

"A woman after my own heart."

She pushes a giant mug against his hand and hops up onto the desk next to him.

"Have screen-reader will travel?" she asks.

He raises an eyebrow. Sends her a questioning look.

"My brother's best mate at University was blind," she explains, "so I know the score. I swear to you, I'm convinced the two of them had figured out a way to get screen-readers to audio-describe porn by the time they'd finished putting their computer science lectures to good use. "

"Never underestimate a geek," Auggie comments. Sips his coffee.

"Amen to that," she agrees with conviction. There's a brief pause. He takes another sip of his coffee.

"So," she asks. "Are you taken?"

He's momentarily taken aback. Recovers. Shoots her a grin. "Why?" he returns, "Are you offering?"

"Oh, God. Definitely!" She doesn't hesitate. "I am not stupid."

He laughs. Makes a regretful face. "I am kinda taken, though," he tells her.

"That's just weird," she informs him. "How can you be 'kind of' taken?"

He's not quite sure how to respond to that, so he doesn't immediately.

"Oh, shit," she says. "I just got a bit personal, didn't I?" She pauses, but not quite long enough for him to get a word in edgewise. "I'm sorry. I'm from the Eastern Cape," she explains. "We are born completely without impulse control down there. I can fake it for about as long as a consult. But no longer than that. You got the real me, I'm afraid."

"Hey. Stop." He holds up his hands, trying to stem the flow. "The only reason I didn't say anything is because I'm trying to figure out how to answer your question. Really. I have no problem with 'personal'. And I kinda _like_ the real you."

"Oh, good," she says. "You either like it or you don't, I suppose. I don't generally give a shit either way. I is what I is. But it's probably not a good idea to piss off your boss's friends."

She's not going to let him off the hook, though. "So, what does 'kind of taken' mean?"

"I guess," he says, "that it means I'm hoping to be taken."

"Ah." She sounds like she's mulling over that. "You're not officially taken, but your heart is?"

She's hit the nail on the head. "Yeah," he says. "That."

"Hmm." She sounds thoughtful. "In that case, I guess I'm kind of taken too." She sighs. Puts a hand on his arm. "But before you ask, I'm not going to elaborate on that. So don't bother."

He doesn't, but when he begins to ask her about Jaco - about what he's like to work for, about her impressions of him - he's pretty sure she's unwittingly elaborating after all.

* * *

After a bit more conversation her mug hits the desk. "Much as I adore you," she declares, "I can only take so long on a coffee break. I am after all supposed to be working for my salary."

"Yeah, I'd better get on with this too," he says, waving at the computer on the desk.

"So, you're good here?" she asks. "I have about a hundred thousand kitties and doggies lined up in the back there waiting for me to wave my magic wand over them and turn them from 'hes' and 'shes' into 'its'. I'm going to be gone for a while."

"Yeah, I'm good."

"Right-o, then. If you need anything just ask Nthabi at reception." She hops off the desk and heads for the door. Stops.

"Oh!" She's facing again. "I just had a thought. You definitely need to know that the bathroom's left out of the door into the corridor, second door to your left. Because that coffee's going to start talking soon. If you hit the room with all the little boxes and bottles in it you've gone too far. "

He laughs. "Thanks," he says.

* * *

It's not long before he's found what he needs to. He copies the evidence onto that external hard drive he's brought along. Leans back in the chair. Thinks.

Stands up. Does some scouting of the office. Carefully. He hasn't forgotten Trix's tornado.

He gives Annie a call.

"How far are you?" he asks. "Almost done?"

"Yeah. On my way back to you now, actually. I was just going to pop into the store on the way, though, pick up a few things."

"Could you come here first? Shop on the way to the station afterwards?" he asks. "I'm pretty much done, but I just need your help with something while everyone else is still out of the way."

"Sure," she says.

Ten minutes later the doorbell sounds and shortly thereafter Annie's with him, asking him: "What do you need?"

"I need you to look through the filing drawers. Look for the originals of those invoices. See if you can find them."

Annie does. All three drawers open. All three drawers close.

"Everything's there," Annie tells him, "perfectly organized," a beat, "except those invoices."

They go back to reception. Auggie asks Nthabi if they can go back and say goodbye to Trix.

Annie follows the receptionist's directions and gets them there.

"Hey." The happy, resonant voice comes at him from inside the room. "Are you finished doing your nerd thing?"

"I am." He smiles at her. "Just wanted to say goodbye before we left."

"'We' being?..."

"Laura," says Annie.

"Trix, this is Laura," says Auggie, doing his duty. "Laura, this is Trix."

"Ah. _Laura_, is it?" says Trix in a thoughtful voice. "Hmm…Yes. I can see why, Owen." She continues: "Sorry I can't shake, Laura," she says, cheerfully, voice back to normal. "A wave's going to have to do, I'm afraid. I'm supposed to be keeping sterile, and also I'm covered in gore."

Annie laughs. "A wave is fine," she says,

They say goodbye.

They go.

"She's fun," says Annie.

"She is," agrees Auggie.

"What did she mean by 'I can see why'?"

Auggie shrugs.

"No clue," he lies.


End file.
